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CONTENTS  OF  \rOL 

COMPRISING  VOLS.  III.  AND  IV. 


VOL.  in. 

Page 

I^ TlumLCTIOS  TO  THE  LaDY  OF    THE  LAKE 1 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Canto  1.  The  Chase 19 

II.  The  Island 61 

III.  The  GATHEniNG 107 

IV.  The  Prophecy 153 

V.  The  C031BAT 197 

VI.  The  GuAKD- Room 247 

Ajtkxdix  TO  THE  Lady  OF  THE  Lake 298 


VOL.  IV. 


MoncK 1 

brrBODUCTioH  to  Bokbbt 7 

Boksby. 

Advertisement 23 

Canto  1 26 

Canto  IL 71 

Canto  m Ill 

Canto  IV 167 

Canto  V 197 

Canto  VI 246 

ArPKXDTX.  TO  BOKXBT 286 


^<^*><.U 


iv  CONTENTS. 

THK  ViMON  of  Don  BODERIOK. 

Preface 857 

Introdnction 866 

The  Vision 874 

Conclusion 416 

ApPBHDIX  to  THB   VUIOS  op  Don  BODKBIOK 486 


^  V  ::"(^  -f^ 


INTRODUCTION 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


'J 


INTRODUCTION 


TO    THB 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


After  the  success  of  "Marmion,**  I  felt  inclined 
to  exclaim  with  Ulysses  m  the  "  Odyssey  "  — 

OvTOC  fJ£V  d^  at&hK  aaaroQ  ^/crrre^ffTfU  • 
Nvv  cvre  OKOTrbv  uXKav.  Odys   %,  5 

"  One  venturous  game  my  hand  has  won  u>-day — 
Another,  gallants,  yet  remains  to  play." 

The  ancient  manners,  the  habits  and  customs 
of  the  aboriginal  race  by  whom  the  Higlilands  of 
Scotland  were  inhabited,  had  always  appeared  to 
me  peculiarly  adapted  to  poetry.  The  change  m 
Aeir  joajuifiES,  too,  had  taken  place  almost  within 
my  own  time,  or  at  least  I  had  learned  many  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  ancient  state  of  the  High- 
lands from  the  old  men  of  the  last  generation.  I 
had  always  thought  the  old  Scottish  Gael  highly 


4  INTRODUCTION    TO    THE 

adapted  for  poetical  composition.  The  feuds,  and 
political  dissensions,  which,  half  a  century  earlier, 
would  ha^  rendered  the  richer  and  wealthier 
part  of  the  kingdom  indisposed  to  countenance  a 
poem,  the  scene  of  which  was  laid  in  the  High- 
lands, were  now  sunk  in  the  generous  compassion 
which  the  English,  more  than  any  other  nation, 
feel  for  the  misfortunes  of  an  honourable  foe.  The 
Poems  of  Ossian  had,  by  their  popularity,  suffi- 
ciently shown,  that  if  writings  on  Highland  sub- 
jects were  qualified  to  interest  the  reader,  mere 
national  prejudices  were,  in  the  present  day,  very 
unlikely  to  interfere  with  their  success. 

I  had  also  read  a  great  deal,  seen  much,  and 
heard  more,  of  that  romantic  country,  where  I 
was  in  the  habit  of  spending  some  time  every 
autumn ;  and  the  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine  was 
connected  with  the  recollection  of  many  a  dear 
friend  and  merry  expedition  of  former  days.  This 
poem,  the  action  of  which  lay  among  scenes  so 
beautiful,  and  so  deeply  imprinted  on  my  recollec- 
tions, was  a  labour  of  love  ;  and  it  was  no  less  so 
to  recall  the  manners  and  incidents  introduced. 

Grhe  frequent  custom  of  James  IV.,  and  particu- 
arly  of  James  V.,  to  walk  thi-ough  their  kingdom 
in  disguise,  afforded  me  the  hint  of  an  incident, 
which  never  fails  to  be  interesting  if  managed 
with  the  slightest  address  or  dexterity. 

I  may  now  confess,  however,  that  the  employ- 
ment, though  attended  with  great  pleasure,  was 


LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.  5 

not  without  its  doubts  and  anxieties.  A  Lady,  to 
whom  I  was  nearly  related,  and  with  whom  I 
lived,  during  her  whole  life,  on  the  most  brotherly 
terms  of  affection,  was  residing  with  me  at  the 
time  when  the  work  was  in  progress,  and  used  to 
ask  me,  what  I  could  possibly  do  to  rise  so  early 
in  the  morning,  (that  happening  to  be  the  most 
convenient  time  to  me  for  composition.)  At  last 
I  told  her  the  subject  of  my  meditations  ;  and  I 
can  never  forget  the  anxiety  and  affection  ex- 
pressed in  her  reply.  "  Do  not  be  so  rash,"  she 
said,  "  my  dearest  cousin.^  You  are  already  popu- 
lar— more  so,  perhaps,  than  you  yourself  will 
believe,  or  than  even  I,  or  other  partial  friends, 
can  fairly  allow  to  your  merit.  You  stand  high 
^-do  not  rashly  attempt  to  climb  higher,  and 
incur  the  risk  of  a  fall ;  for,  depend  upon  it,  a 
favourite  will  not  be  permitted  even  to  stumble 
with  impunity."  I  replied  to  this  affectionate  ex- 
postulation in  the  words  of  Montrose — 

"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch 

To  gain  or  lose  it  all." 

1  [The  lady  with  whom  Sir  Walter  Scott  held  this  conver- 
sation, was,  no  doubt,  his  aunt,  Miss  Christian  Rutherford 
&ere  was  no  other  female  relation  dead  when  this  Introduc- 
tion was  written,  whom  I  can  suppose  him  to  have  consulted 
cm  literary  questions.  Lady  Capulet,  on  seeing  the  corpse 
yt  Tybalt,  exclaims, — 

**  Tybalt,  my  cousin!  oh  my  brother's  child!  "—Ed.] 


6  INTRODUCTION   TO   THE 

"  If  I  fail,**  I  said,  for  the  dialogue  is  strong  in 
my  recollection,  *•  it  is  a  sign  that  I  ought  never 
to  have  succeeded,  and  I  will  write  prose  for  life : 
you  shall  see  no  change  in  my  temper,  nor  will  I 
eat  a  single  meal  the  worse.     But  if  I  succeed, 

"  Up  with  the  bonnie  blue  bonnet, 
The  dirk,  and  the  feather,  and  a' !  " 

Afterwards  I  showed  my  affectionate  and  anx- 
ious critic  the  first  canto  of  the  poem,  which 
reconciled  her  to  my  imprudence.  Nevertheless, 
although  I  answered  thus  confidently,  with  the 
obstinacy  often  said  to  be  proper  to  those  who  bear 
my  surname,  I  acknowledge  that  my  confidence 
was  considerably  shaken  by  the  warning  of  her 
excellent  taste  and  unbiased  friendship.  Nor  was 
I  much  comforted  by  her  retractation  of  the  unfa- 
vourable judgment,  when  I  recollected  how  likely 
a  natural  partiality  was  to  effect  that  change  of 
opinion.  In  such  cases,  affection  rises  like  a  light 
on  the  canvas,  improves  any  favourable  tints  whicli 
it  formerly  exhibited,  and  throws  its  defects  into 
the  shade. 

I  remember  that  about  the  same  time  a  friend 
started  in  to  "  heeze  up  my  hope,"  like  the  *"'  sports- 
man with  his  cutty  gun,"  in  the  old  song.  He 
was  bred  a  farmer,  but  a  man  of  powerful  under- 
Btanding,  natural  good  taste,  and  warm  poetical 
feeling,  perfectly  competent  to  supply  the  wants 
of  an  imperfect  or  irregular  education.     He  was  a 


LADY    OF   THE   LAKE.  7 

passionate  admirer  of  field-sports,  which  we  often 
pursued  together. 

As  this  friend  happened  to  dine  with  me  at 
Ashesteil  one  day,  I  took  the  opportunity  of  read- 
ing to  him  the  first  canto  of  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  in  order  to  ascertain  the  effect  the  poem 
was  likely  to  produce  upon  a  person  who  was  but 
too  favourable  a  representative  of  readers  at  large. 
It  IS,  of  course,  to  be  supposed,  that  I  determined 
rather  to  guide  my  opinion  by  what  my  friend 
might  appear  to  feel,  than  by  what  he  might  think 
fit  to  say.  His  reception  of  my  recitation,  or  pre- 
lection, was  rather  singular.  He  placed  his  hand 
across  his  brow,  and  listened  with  great  attention 
through  the  whole  account  of  the  stag-hunt,  till  the 
dogs  threw  themselves  into  the  lake  to  follow  their 
master,  who  embarks  with  Ellen  Douglas.  He 
then  started  up  with  a  sudden  exclamation,  stnick 
his  hand  on  the  table,  and  declai'ed,  in  a  voice  of 
censure  calculated  for  the  occasion,  that  the  dogs 
must  have  been  totally  ruined  by  being  permitted 
to  take  the  water  after  such  a  severe  chase.  I 
own  I  was  much  encouraged  by  the  species  of 
reverie  which  had  possessed  so  zealous  a  follower 
jf  the  sports  of  the  ancient  Nimrod,  who  had  been 
completely  surprised  out  of  all  doubts  of  the  reahty 
of  the  tale.  Another  of  his  remarks  gave  me  less 
pleasure.  He  detected  the  identity  of  the  King 
with  the  wandering  knight,  Fitz-James,  when  he 
grinds  his  bugle  to  summon  his  attendant-*.     H«^ 


8  INTRODUCTION    TO    THE 

was,  probably,  thinking  of  the  lively,  but  somewhat 

licentious,  old  ballad,  in  which  the  denouement  of 
a  royal  intrigue  takes  place  as  follows  : — 

♦  He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  shrill, 
And  four-and-twenty  belted  knights 

Came  skipping  ower  the  hill; 
Then  he  took  out  a  little  knife, 

Let  a'  his  duddies  fa'. 
And  he  was  the  bra  west  gentleman 

That  was  amang  thera  a'. 

And  we'll  go  no  more  a-roving,"  &c. 

This  discovery,  as  ^Ir.  Pepys  says  of  the  rent 
in  his  camlet  cloak,  was  but  a  trifle,  yet  it  troubled 
me ;  and  I  was  at  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  efface 
any  marks  by  which  I  thought  my  secret  could  be 
traced  before  the  conclusion,  when  I  relied  on  it 
with  the  same  hope  of  producing  effect,  with  which 
the  Irish  post-boy  is  said  to  reserve  a  "  trot  for 
the  avenue." 

I  took  uncommon  pains  to  verify  the  accuracy 
of  the  local  circumstances  of  this  story.  I  recol- 
lect, in  particular,  that,  to  ascertain  whether  I  was 
telling  a  probable  tale,  I  went  into  Perthshire,  to 
see  whether  King  James  could  actually  have  rid- 
ien  from  the  banks  of  Loch  Vennachar  to  Stuling 
Castle  within  the  time  supposed  in  the  poem,  and 
had  the  pleasure  to  satisfy  myself  that  it  w^s 
quite  practicable. 

After  a  considerable  delay,  "  The  Lady  of  the 


LADY    0/  THE    LAKE.  9 

Lake  '*  appeared  in  June,  1810_;  and  its  success 
was  certainly  so  extfaordinary  as  to  induce  me  for 
the  moment  to  conclude  that  I  had  at  last  fixed  a 
nail  m  the  proverbially  inconstant  wheel  of  For- 
tune, whose  stabihty  in  behalf  of  an  individual. 
who  had  so  boldly  courted  her  favours  for  three 
successive  times,  had  not  as  yet  been  shaken.  I 
had  attained,  perhaps,  that  degree  of  public  repu- 
tation at  which  prudence,  or  certainly  timidity, 
would  have  made  a  halt,  and  discontinued  efforts 
by  which  I  was  far  more  likely  to  diminish  my 
fame  than  to  increase  it.  But,  as  the  celebrated 
John  Wilkes  is  said  to  have  explained  to  his  late 
Majesty,  that  he  himself,  amid  his  full  tide  of  pop- 
ularity, was  never  a  Wilkite,  so  I  can,  with  honest 
truth,  exculpate  myself  from  having  been  at  any 
time  a  partisan  of  my  own  poetry,  even  when 
it  was  in  the  highest  fashion  with  the  million. 
It  must  not  be  supposed,  that  I  was  either  so 
ungrateful,  or  so  superabundantly  candid,  as  to 
despise  or  scorn  the  value  of  those  whose  voice 
had  elevated  me  so  much  higher  than  my  own 
opinion  told  me  I  deserved.  I  felt,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  more  grateful  to  the  public,  as  receiving 
that  from  partiahty  to  me,  which  I  could  not  have 
claimed  from  merit ;  and  I  endeavoured  to  deserve 
\he  partiality,  by  continuing  such  exertions  as  I 
was  capable  of  for  their  amusement. 

It  may  be  that  I  did  not,  in  this  continued 
oourse  of  scribbling,  consult  either  the  interest  of 


10  INTRODUCTION    TO    THE 

the  public  or  my  own.  But  the  former  had  eflfect- 
ual  means  of  defending  themselves,  and  could,  by 
their  coldness,  sufficiently  check  any  app)*oach  to 
intrusion  ;  and  for  myself,  I  had  now  foi  several 
yeai-s  dedicated  my  hours  so  much  to  literary  la- 
bour, that  I  should  have  felt  difficulty  in  employ- 
ing myself  otherwise ;  and  so,  like  DogbeiTy,  I 
generously  bestowed  all  my  tediousness  on  the 
pubUc,  comforting  myself  A^th  the  reflection,  that 
if  posterity  should  think  me  undeserving  of  the 
favour  with  which  I  was  regarded  by  my  con- 
temporaries, "  they  could  not  but  say  I  had  the 
crown,"  and  had  enjoyed  for  a  time  that  popu- 
larity which  is  so  much  coveted. 

I  conceived,  however,  that  I  held  the  distin- 
guished situation  I  had  obtidned,  however  unwor- 
thily, rather  like  the  cliampion  of  pugilism,^  on 
the  condition  of  being  always  ready  to  show  proofs 
of  my  skill,  than  in  the  manner  of  the  champion 
of  chivalry,  who  performs  liis  duties  only  on  rare 
and  solenm  occasions.  I  was,  in  any  case,  con- 
scious that  I  could  not  long  hold  a  situation  which 
the  caprice,  rather  than  the  judgment,  of  the  public 
had  bestowed  upon  me,  and  preferred  being  de- 
prived of  my  precedence  by  some  more  worthy 

I  ["  In  twice  five  years  the  '  greatest  living  poet,' 
Like  to  the  champion  in  the  fisty  ring, 
Is  called  on  to  support  his  claim,  or  show  it, 
Although  'tis  an  imaginary  thing,"  &c. 

Don  Juan,  canto  xi.  st  66.] 


LADT    OF   THE    LAKE.  11 

rival,  to  sinking  into  contempt  for  my  indolence, 
and  losing  my  reputation  by  what  Scottish  lawyers 
call  the  negative  prescription.  Accordingly,  those 
who  choose  to  look  at  the  Introduction  to  Rokeby, 
in  the  present  edition,  will  be  able  to  trace  the 
steps  by  which  I  declined  as  a  poet  to  figure  as  a 
novelist ;  as  the  ballad  says,  Queen  Eleanor  sunk 
at  Charing- Cross  to  rise  again  at  Queenhithe. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  say,  that,  during  my 
short  preeminence  of  popularity,  I  faithfully  ob- 
served the  rules  of  moderation  which  I  had 
resolved  to  follow  before  I  began  my  course  as  a 
man  of  letters.  If  a  man  is  determined  to  make 
a  noise  in  the  world,  he  is  as  sure  to  encounter 
abuse  and  ridicule,  as  he  who  gallops  furiously 
through  a  village  must  reckon  on  being  followed 
by  the  curs  in  full  cr}'.  Experienced  persona 
know,  that  in  stretching  to  flog  the  latter,  the 
rider  is  very  apt  to  catch  a  bad  fall ;  nor  is  an  at- 
tempt to  chastise  a  malignant  cntic  attended  with 
less  danger  to  the  author.  On  this  principle,  I 
let  parody,  burlesque,  and  squibs,  find  their  own 
level ;  and  while  the  latter  hissed  most  fiercely,  I 
was  cautious  never  to  catch  them  up,  as  school- 
boys do,  to  throw  them  back  against  the  naughty 
boy  who  fired  them  off,  TN-isely  remembering  that 
they  are,  m  such  cases,  apt  to  explode  in  the 
handling      Let  me  add,  that   my  reign*   (since 

I  ("  Sir  Walter  reign'd  before,"  &c. 

Don  Juan,  canto  xi.  st  67.] 


12  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  LADY  OP  THE  LAKh. 

Byron  has  so  called  it)  was  marked  bj  some  in- 
stances of  good-nature  as  well  as  patience.  I 
never  refused  a  literary  person  of  merit  such 
services  in  smoothing  his  way  to  the  public  aa 
were  in  my  power;  and  I  had  the  advantage, 
rather  an  uncommon  one  with  our  irritable  race, 
to  enjoy  general  favour,  without  incurring  per- 
manent ill-will,  so  far  as  is  known  to  me,  among 
any  of  my  contemporaries. 

W.  8. 


Abbotsfobd,  41"^  18^* 


ran 


lADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


A    POEM. 


IH    813      ^AJJT08.^ 


>  [Published,  in  4to,  June,  1810.] 


THE  MOST  NOBLB 


JOHN  JAMES 
MARQUIS  OF  ABERCORN, 

^c.  SfC.  Sfc, 
THIS    POEM    lb    INSCRIBED 

.   THE    AUTHOR. 


ARGUMENT 


The  Scene  of  the  following  Poem  is  laid  chiefly  in 
the  vicinity  of  Loch  Katrine^  in  the  Western  Highlands 
of  Perthshire.  The  time  of  Action  includes  Six  Days, 
and  the  Transactions  of  each  Day  occupy  a  Canto} 

1  ["  Never,  we  think,  has  the  analogy  between  poetry  and 
painting  been  more  strikingly  exemplified  than  in  the  writ- 
ings of  Mr.  Scott.  He  sees  everj-  thing  with  a  painter's  eye. 
Whatever  he  represents  has  a  character  of  individuality,  and 
is  drawn  with  an  accuracy  and  minuteness  of  discriminatiou, 
which  we  are  not  accustomed  to  expect  from  verbal  descrip- 
tion. Much  of  this,  no  doubt,  is  the  result  of  genius;  for 
there  is  a  quick  and  comprehensive  power  of  discernment, 
an  intensity  and  keenness  of  observation,  an  almost  intuitive 
glance,  which  nature  alone  can  give,  and  by  means  of  which 
her  favourites  are  enabled  to  dir^cover  characteristic  differ- 
ences, where  the  eye  of  dulness  sees  nothing  but  uniformity; 
but  something  al«o  must  be  referred  to  discipline  and  exer- 
cise. The  liveliest  fancy  can  only  call  forth  those  images 
which  are  already  stored  up  in  the  memorj-;  and  all  that  in- 
vention can  do  is  to  unite  these  into  new  combinations,  which 
mast  appear  confused  and  ill-defined,  if  the  impressions  origi- 
nally received  by  the  senses  were  deficient  in  strength  and 
distinctness.  It  is  because  Mr.  Scott  usually  delineates  those 
objects  with  which  he  is  perfectly  familiar,  that  his  touch  is 
go  easy,  correct,  and  animated.  The  rocks,  the  ravines,  and 
ths  torrents,  which  he  exhibits,  are  not  the  imperfect  sketches 
of  a  hurried  traveller,  but  the  finished  studies  of  a  resident 
artist  deliberately  drawn  from  different  points  of  view;  each 
tas  its  true  shape  and  position;  it  is  a  portrait;  it  has  its 
name  by  which  the  spectator  is  invited  to  examine  the  exact- 

2 


C    18    J 

ness  of  the  resemblance.  The  figures  which  are  combined 
with  the  landscape  are  painted  with  the  same  fidelity.  Like 
those  of  Salvator  Rosa,  they  are  perfectly  appropriate  to  the 
spot  on  which  they  stand.  The  boldness  of  feature,  tlie  light- 
uess  and  compactness  of  form,  the  wildness  of  air,  and  the 
careless  ease  of  attitude  of  these  mountaineers,  are  as  con- 
genial to  their  native  Highlands,  as  the  birch,  and  the  pine 
which  darken  their  glens,  the  sedge  which  fringes  their  lakes, 
or  the  heath  which  waves  over  their  moors." —  Quarterly  Be- 
view,  May,  1810. 

"  It  is  honourable  to  Mr.  Scott's  genius  that  he  has  been 
able  to  interest  the  public  so  deeply  with  this  third  present- 
ment of  the  same  chivalrous  scenes;  but  we  cannot  help 
thinking,  that  both  his  glory  and  our  gratification  would  have 
been  greater,  if  he  had  changed  his  hand  more  completely, 
and  actually  given  us  a  true  Celtic  story,  with  all  its  drapery 
and  accompaniments  in  a  coiTesponding  style  of  decoration. 
Sucli  a  subject,  we  are  pei-suaded,  has  very  great  capabili- 
ties, and  only  wants  to  be  introduced  to  public  notice  by 
such  a  hand  as  Air.  Scott's,  to  make  a  still  more  powerful  im- 
pression ihan  he  has  already  effected  by  the  resurrection  of 
the  tales  of  romance.  There  are  few  persons,  we  believe,  of 
ivny  degree  of  poetical  susceptibility,  who  have  wandered 
among  the  secluded  valleys  of  the  Highlands,  and  contem- 
plated the  singular  people  by  whom  they  are  still  tenanted — 
with  their  love  of  music  and  of  song — their  hardy  and  irregu- 
lar life,  so  unlike  the  unvarying  toils  of  the  Saxon  mechanic 
— their  devotion  to  their  chiefs — their  wild  and  lofty  tra- 
ditions— their  national  enthusiasm — the  melancholy  grandeur 
of  the  scenes  they  inhabit — and  the  multiplied  superstitions 
which  still  linger  among  them— without  feeling,  that  there  is 
no  existing  people  so  well  adapted  for  the  purposes  of  poetry, 
or  so  capable  of  furnishing  the  occasions  of  new  and  striking 
inventions. 

"  We  are  persuaded,  thai  if  Mr.  ScotVs  poweifid  and  creative 
yenvis  were  to  be  turned  in  good  earnest  to  such  a  subject,  some 
thing  might  be  produced  still  viore  impressive  and  original  than 
even  this  age  has  yet  uriinessed.'* — Jeffrey,  Edinburgh  Review 
No.  xvi.  for  1810.] 


THE 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


OAinO    FIKST. 


THE    CHASE 


THE 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


CANTO    FIK8T. 


THE  CHASE. 

Harp  of  the  North !  that  mouldering  long  hast 
hung 

On  the  witch-ehn  that   shades  Sahit  Fillan*8 
spring, 
And  down  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  ,flung^^ 

Till  envious  ivy  did  around  thee  cling, 
Muffling  with  verdant  ringlet  every  string, — 

O  minstrel  Harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep  ? 
Mid  rustling  leaves  and  fountains  murmuring, 

Still  must  thy  sweeter  sounds  their  silence  keep, 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to  weep  ? 

»  [MS. — **  And  on  the  fitfnl  breeze  thy  numbers  flung, 
Till  envious  ivy,  with  her  verdant  ring, 
Mantled  and  muffled  each  melodious  string, — 
0  Wizard  Harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep?  ''J 


22        THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.    |Ca>TOI. 

Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon, 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festal  ci-OAvd, 
When  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  glory  won. 

Aroused  the  fearful,  or  subdued  the  pr3ud. 
At  each  according  pause  was  heard  aloud  * 

Thine  ardent  symphony  sublime  and  high ! 
Fair  dames  and  crested  chiefs  attention  bow'd  ; 

For  still  the  burden  of  thy  minstreby 
Was  Knighthood's  dauntless  deed,  and  Beauty*3 
matchless  eye. 

O  wake  once  more  !  how  rude  so'er  the  hand 

That  ventures  o'er  thy  magic  maze  to  stray ; 
0  wake  once  more  !  though  scarce  my  skill  com- 
mand 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay  : 
Tliough  harsh  and  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away, 

And  all  unworthy  of  thy  nobler  strain. 
Yet  if  one  heart  tlu-ob  higher  at  its  sway, 

Xhe  wizai'd  note  has  not  been  touched  in  vain. 
Then  silent  be  no  more !  Enchantress,  wake  again  I 


I. 
.tiE  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  I^onan's  rill, 

1  [MS. — "  At  each  according  pause  thou  spokest  aloud 
Thine  ardent  sympathy."] 


fAirroi.l  THE   CHASE.  23 

And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 

In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade  ; 

But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 

Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head,      r*K^ 

The  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way,^ 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne. 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

II. 
As  Chief,  who  hears  his  warder  call, 
"  To  arms  !  the  foemen  storm  the  wall," 
The  antler'd  monarch  of  the  waste 
Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste. 
But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  took. 
The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook ; 
Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 
Toss'd  his  beam'd  frontlet  to  the  sky ; 
A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 
A  moment  snuff 'd  the  tainted  gale, 
A  moment  listen'd  to  the  cry, 
That  thicken'd  as  the  chase  drew  nigh ; 
Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appear'd. 
With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  cleared, 
And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far,  i      Vj'^'v 


Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var.'»        V^.        r     ^ 


*  [MS. — "  The  bloodhound's  notes  of  heavy  bass 
Besoxinded  hoarsely  up  the  pass."] 
Ua-var,  as  the  name  is  pronounced,  or  more  properly 
(Xngh-mor^  is  a  mountain  to  the  northeast  of  the  village  of 


•f 


24  THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE,      f CANTO  L 

III. 

Yeird  on  the  view  the  opening  pack  ; 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern,  paid  them  back ; 
To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awaken'd  mountain  gave  response, 
A  hundred  dogs  bay'd  deep  and  strong, 
Clatter'd  a  hundred  steeds  along. 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  join'd  the  shout ; 
With  hark  and  whoop  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew.^ 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe. 
Close  in  her  covert  cower'd  the  doe. 
The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye. 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen. 

Callander  in  Menteith,  deriving  its  name,  which  signifies  the 
great  den,  or  cavern,  from  a  sort  of  retreat  among  the  rocks 
on  the  south  side,  said,  by  tradition,  to  have  been  the  abode 
of  a  giant.  In  latter  times,  it  vras  tlie  refuge  of  robbers  and 
banditti,  who  have  been  only  extirpated  within  these  forty  or 
fifty  years.  Strictly  speaking,  this  stronghold  is  not  a  cave, 
as  the  name  would  imply,  but  a  sort  of  small  enclosure,  or 
recess,  surrounded  with  large  rocks  and  open  above  head. 
It  may  have  been  originally  designed  as  a  toil  for  deer,  who 
might  get  in  from  the  outside,  but  would  find  it  difficult  to 
return.  This  opinion  prevails  among  the  old  sportsmen  and 
deer-stalkers  in  the  neighbourhood. 

1  Bcnvoirlich,  a  mountain  comprehended  in  the  cluster  of 
the  Grampians,  at  the  head  of  the  valley  of  the  Garry,  a  river 
which  springs  from  its  base.  It  rises  to  an  elevation  of  3,330 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 


OAUTO  I.]  THE    CHASE.  25 


Faint,  and  more  faint,  its  failing 
Return'd  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn. 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still. 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill. 

IV. 

Less  loud  the  sounds  of  silvan  war 
Disturb'd  the  heights  of  Uam-Var, 
And  roused  the  cavern,  where,  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old  ; 
For  ere  that  steep  ascent  was  won, 
High  in  his  pathway  hung  the  sun. 
And  many  a  gallant,  stay'd  perforce, 
"Was  fain  to  breathe  his  faltering  horse, 
And  of  the  trackers  of  the  deer, 
Scarce  half  the  lessening  pack  was  near ; 
So  shrewdly  on  the  mountain  side 
Had  the  bold  burst  their  mettle  tried. 

Y. 

The  noble  stag  was  pausing  now, 

Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow, 

Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath,  ^^  ^^^^■*'<^*^ 

The  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith,  — 

With  anxious  eye  he  wander'd  o'er 

Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor, 

And  ponder'd  refuge  from  his  toil, 

By  fur  Lochard  ^  or  Aberfoyle.  /<vyv 

*  ["About  a  mile  to  the  westward  of  the  inn  of  Aberfoyle 
^•ochard  opens  to  the  view.    A  few  hundred  yards  to  the  easl 


26  THE    LaJ)T    of    the    LAKE.      [CAKTO  L 

But  nearer  was  the  copsewood  gray, 
That  waved  and  wept  on  Loch-Achray, 


of  it  the  Avendow,  which  had  just  issued  from  the  lake,  tnm- 
bles  its  waters  over  a  rugged  precipice  of  more  than  thirty 
feet  in  height,  forming,  in  the  rainy  season,  several  very 
magnificent  cataracts. 

"  Th-e  first  opening  of  the  lower  lake,  from  the  east,  is  un- 
commonly picturesque.  Directing  the  eye  nearly  westward, 
Benlomond  raises  its  pyramidal  mass  in  the  background.  In 
nearer  prospect,  you  have  gentle  eminences,  covered  with 
oak  and  birch  to  the  very  summit ;  the  bare  rock  sometimes 
peeping  through  amongst  the  clumps.  Immediately  under 
the  eye,  the  lower  lake,  stretching  out  from  narrow  begin- 
nings, to  a  breadth  of  about  half  a  mile,  is  seen  in  full  pros- 
pect. On  the  right,  the  banks  are  skirted  with  extensive  oak 
woods,  which  cover  the  mountain  more  than  half  way  up. 

"  Advancing  to  the  westward,  the  view  of  the  lake  is  lost 
for  about  a  mile.  The  upper  lake,  which  is  by  far  the  most 
extensive,  is  separated  from  the  lower  by  a  stream  of  about 
200  yards  in  length.  The  most  advantageous  view  of  the 
upper  lake,  presents  itself  from  a  rising  gi-ound  near  its  lower 
extremity,  where  a  footpath  strikes  off"  to  the  south,  in  the 
wood  that  overhangs  this  connecting  stream.  Looking  west- 
ward, Benlomond  is  seen  in  the  background,  rising,  at  the 
distance  of  six  miles,  in  the  form  of  a  regular  cone,  its  sides 
presenting  a  gentle  slope  to  the  N.  W.  and  S.  E,  On  the 
right  is  the  lofty  mountain  of  Benoghrie,  running  west,  to- 
wards the  deep  vale  in  which  Lochcon  lies  concealed  from 
the  eye.  In  the  foreground,  Lochard  stretches  out  to  tiie  west 
hi  fairest  prospect;  its  length  three  miles,  and  its  breadth  a 
mile  and  a  half.  On  the  right  it  is  skirted  with  woods ;  the 
northern  and  western  extremity  of  the  lake  is  diversified  with 
meadows,  and  corn-fields,  and  farm-houses.  On  the  left,  few 
marks  of  cultivation  are  to  be  seen. 

'•  Farther  on,  the  traveller  passes  along  the  verga  of  the 
lake  under  a  ledge  of  rock,  from  thirty  to  fifty  feet  high ;  and, 
standing  immediately  imder  this  rock,  towards  its  western 


V 


V 


DAXroi.l  THE    CHASE.  27 

And  mingled  with  the  pine-trees  blue 
On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Benvenue. 
Fresh  vigour  mth  the  hope  retum'd,* 
With  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spum'd, 
Held  westward  with  unwearied  race, 
And  left  behmd  the  pantmg  chase. 

VT. 

Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds  gave  o'er,  ^-^ ' 

As  swept  the  hunt  tlirough  Cambus-more ;  *  '^ 
What  reins  were  tighten'd  in  despair, 
^       When  rose  B^ledi's  ridge  m  air  ;  ^  ^^ 

<'^'"^       Who  flagg'd  upon  Bocluistle's  heath,   aX/-^^'^ 
Who  shunn'd  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith— *     - 

extremity,  he  has  a  double  echo,  of  uncommon  disHnctness. 
Upon  pronouncing,  with  a  firm  voice,  a  line  of  ten  syllabl«^ 
it  is  returned,  first  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake;  and 
when  that  is  finished,  it  is  repeated  with  equal  distmctnes3 
from  the  wood  on  the  east.  The  day  must  be  perfectly  calm, 
and  the  lake  as  smooth  as  glass,  for  otherwise  no  human  voice 
can  be  returned  from  a  distance  of  at  least  a  quarter  of  a 
mile."— Graham's  Sketches uf  Perthshire,  2d  edit.  p.  182,  &c.] 

1  [MS.—"  Fresh  vigour  with  the  thouyht  retum'd, 

With  flying  hoof  the  heath  he  spurn'd."] 

2  [aimbus-mare,  within  about  two  miles  of  Callender,  en  V 
the  wooded  banks  of  the  Keltic,  a  tributary  of  the  Teith,  \a  J 
vhe  seat  of  a  family  of  the  name  of  Buchanan,  whom  the  poet^ 
frequently  visited  in  his  younger  days.] 

a  [Benledi  is  a  magnificent  mountain,  3,009  feet  in  height, 
which  bounds  the  horizon  on  the  northwest  from  Callender. 
The  name,  according  to  Celtic  etymologists,  signifies  The 

Mountain  of  God.']  t     v,  v  -i 

4  [Two  mountain  streams-the  one  flowing  from  Loch  V  dU, 


28  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        f  CANTO 

For  twice  that  day,  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er. 
Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far, 
That  reach'd  the  lake  of  Vennachar  ;  ^ 
And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won,^ 
The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 

VIL 

Alone,  but  with  ui  bated  zeal. 
That  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel ; 
For  jaded  now,  and  spent  with  toil, 
Emboss'd  with  foam,  and  dark  with  soil, 


by  the  pass  of  Leny;  the  other  from  Loch  Katrine,  by  Loch 
Achray  and  Loch  Vennachar,  unite  at  Callender;  and  the 
river  thus  formed  thenceforth  takes  the  name  of  Teith.  Hence 
the  designation  of  the  territory  o{  Menteith.] 

1  f"  Loch  Vennachar,  a  beautiful  expanse  of  water,  of  about 
five  miles  in  length,  by  a  mile  and  a  half  in  breadth." — Gka 

HAM.] 

2  ["  About  a  mile  above  Loch  Vennachar,  the  approach 
(from  the  east)  to  the  Brigg,  or  Bridge  of  Turk,  (the  scene 
of  the  death  of  a  wild  boar  famous  in  Celtic  tradition,)  leads 
to  the  summit  of  an  eminence,  where  there  bursts  upon  the 
traveller's  eye  a  sudden  and  wild  prospect  of  the  windings  of 
the  river  that  issues  from  Loch  Achray,  with  that  sweet  lake 
itself  in  front;  the  gently  rolling  river  pursues  its  serpentine 
course  through  an  extensive  meadow;  at  the  west  end  of  the 
.  ake,  on  the  side  of  Aberfoyle,  is  situated  the  delightful  farm 
>f  Achray,  the  Ceveljield,  a  denomination  justly  due  to  it,  when 
considered  in  contrast  with  the  rugged  rocks  and  mountains 
which  surround  it.  From  this  emhience  are  to  be  seen,  also 
tfn  the  right  hand,  the  entrance  to  Glenfinlas,  and  in  the  dis* 
^ance  Ben  venue." — Graham.] 


CAHTO  I.]  THE   CHASE.  29 

While  every  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew, 
The  labouring  stag  strain'd  full  in  view. 
Two  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 
Unmatch'd  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed,* 
Fast  on  his  flying  traces  came, 

1  »  The  hounds  >vhich  we  call  Saint  Hubert's  hounds,  are 
commonly  all  blacke,  yet  neuertheless,  the  race  is  «o  mmgled 
It  these  davs,  that  we  find  them  of  all  colours      These  are 
the  hounds  which  the  abbots  of  St.  Hubert  haue  alway 
kept  some  of  their  race  or  kind  in  l^onour  or  remembrance 
of  the  saint,  which  was  a  hunter  with  S.  Eustace      Where. 
upon  we  may  conceiue  that  (by  the  j^ace  of  God)  all  good 
huntsmen  shall  follow  them  into  paradise.    To  return  vnto  my 
former  purpose,  this  kind  of  dogges  hath  bene  dispersed  through 
the  counties  of  Henault,  Loryne,  Flanders,  and  Burgoyne. 
They  are  mighty  of  body,  neuertheless  their  legges  are  low 
and 'short,  likewise  they  are  not  swift,  although  they  l^  very 
eood  of  sent,  hunting  chaces  which  are  farre  straggled  fear 
fng  neither  water  nor  cold,  and  doe  more  couet  the  chaces 
thft  smell,  as  foxes,  bore,  and  such  like,  than  other,  because 
they  find  themselves  neither  of  swiftness  nor  courage  to  hunt 
and  kill  the  chaces  that  are  lighter  and  swifter.    The  blood- 
hounds of  this  colour  proue  good,  especially  those  tha    are 
cole  blacke,  but  I  made  no  great  account  to  ^^-eed  «"  J^^^^' 
or  to  keepe  the  kind,  and  yet  I  found  a  book  which  a  hunter 
did  dedicate  to  a  prince  of  Lorayne,  which  seemed  to  .oue 
hunting  much,  wherein  was  a  blason  which  the  same  hu.iter 
gaue  to  his  bloodhound,  caUed  Souyllard,  which  was  white:- 
«  My  name  came  first  from  holy  Hubert's  race, 
SDuyllard  my  sire,  a  hound  of  singular  grace.' 
Whereupon  we  may  presume  that  some  of  the  kind  proue 
while  sometimes,  but  they  are  not  of  the  kind  of  the  Greffiers 
or  Bouxes,  which  we  haue  at  these  d^y^^r -The  noble  A^'t  of 
Venerie  or  Bunting,  translated  and  collected  for  tiie  U^e  of  all 
ffobUmen  and  Gentlemen.    Lond.  1611,  4to,  p.  lo. 


30  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.        [CANTO  I 

And  all  but  won  that  desperate  game , 

For,  scarce  a  spear's  length  from  his  haunch, 

Vindictive  toil'd  the  bloodhounds  stanch ; 

Nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain, 

Nor  farther  might  the  quarry  strain, 

Thus  up  the  margin  of  the  lake, 

Between  the  precipice  and  brake. 

O'er  stock  and  rock  their  race  they  take. 

VIII. 

The  Hunter  mark'd  that  mountain  high. 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary. 
And  deem'd  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay. 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barr'd  the  way ; 
Already  glorying  in  the  prize, 
Measured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes ; 
For  the  death-wound  and  death-halloo, 
Muster'd  his  breath,  his  whinyard  drew ; — * 


1  When  the  stag  turned  to  bay,  the  ancient  hunter  had  the 
perilous  task  of  going  in  upon,  and  killing  or  disabling  the 
desperate  animal.  At  certain  times  of  the  year  this  was  held 
particularly  dangerous,  a  wound  received  from  a  stag's  horn 
being  then  deemed  poisonous,  and  more  dangerous  than  ona 
from  the  tusk  of  a  boar,  as  the  old  rhyme  testifies: — 

"  If  thou  be  hurt  with  hart,  it  brings  thee  to  thy  bier, 
But  barber's  hand  will  boar's  hurt  heal,  therefore,  thou 
need's  not  fear." 

At  all  times,  however,  the  task  was  dangerous,  and  to  be  ad 
ventured  upon  wisely  and  warily,  either  by  getting  behind 
the  stag  while  he  was  gazing  on  the  hounds,  or  by  watching 


CASTO  I.]  THE    CHASE.  31 

But  thundering  as  he  came  prepared, 
With  ready  arm  and  weapon  bared, 
The  wily  quarry  shunn'd  the  shock, 
And  tum'd  him  from  the  opposing  rock ; 
Then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen, 


Bu  opportunity  to  gallop  roundly  in  upon  him,  and  kill  mm 
with  the  sword.  See  many  directions  to  this  purpose  in  the 
Booke  of  Hunting,  chap.  41.  Wilson  the  historian  has  re- 
corded a  providential  escape  which  befell  him  in  tiiis  hazard- 
ous sport,  while  a  youth  and  follower  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

"  Sir  Peter  Lee,  of  Lime,  in  Cheshire,  invited  my  lord  one 
summer  to  hunt  the  stagg.  And  having  a  great  stagg  in 
chase,  and  many  gentlemen  in  the  pursuit,  the  stagg  took 
soyle.  And  divers,  whereof  I  was  one,  alighted,  and  stood 
with  swords  drawne,  to  have  a  cut  at  him,  at  his  coming  out 
of  the  water.  The  staggs  there  being  wonderfully  fierce  and 
dangerous,  made  us  youths  more  eager  to  be  at  him.  But 
he  escaped  us  all.  And  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  hindei-ed 
of  my  coming  nere  him,  the  way  being  sliperie,  by  a  falle; 
which  gave  occasion  to  some,  who  did  not  know  mee,  to 
speak  as  if  I  had  falne  for  feare.  Which  being  told  mee,  I 
left  the  stagg,  and  followed  the  gentleman  who  [first]  spake 
it.  But  I  found  him  of  that  cold  temper,  that  it  seems  his 
words  made  an  escape  from  him;  as  b}'  liis  denial  and  re- 
pentance it  appeared.  But  this  made  mee  more  violent  in 
the  pursuit  of  the  stagg,  to  recover  my  reputation.  And  I 
happened  to  be  the  only  horseman  in,  when  the  dogs  sett  him 
up  at  bay;  and  approaching  near  him  on  horsebacke,  he 
broke  through  the  dogs,  and  ran  at  mee,  and  tore  my  horse's 
fide  with  his  homes,  close  by  my  thigh.  Then  I  quitted  my 
horse,  and  grew  more  cunning  (for  the  dogs  had  sette  him  up 
again},  stealing  behind  him  with  my  sword,  and  cut  his  ham- 
strings;  and  then  got  upon  his  back,  and  cut  his  ihroate: 
which,  as  1  was  doing,  the  company  came  in,  and  blamed  my 
rashness  for  running  such  a  hazard."-  Peck's  Desiderata 
Curioaa,  ii.  464. 


32  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [canto    l 

Soon  lost  to  hound  and  hunter's  ken, 
In  the  deep  Trosach's  ^  wildest  nook 
His  solitary  refuge  took. 
There,  while  close  couch'd,  the  thicket  shed 
Cold  dews  and  wild-flowers  on  his  head, 
He  heard  the  baffled  dogs  in  vain 
Rave  through  the  hollow  pass  amain, 
Chiding  the  rocks  that  yell'd  again. 

IX. 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came, 
To  cheer  them  on  the  vanished  game ; 
But,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell. 
The  gallant  horse  exhausted  feU. 
The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 
To  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein. 
For  the  good  steed,  his  labours  o'er, 
Stretch'd  his  stiff  limbs,  to  rise  no  more ; 
Then,  touch'd  with  pity  and  remorse, 
He  sorrow'd  o'er  the  expiring  horse. 
"  I  Httle  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 
I  slack'd  upon  the  banks  of  Seine, 
That  Hidiland  eade  e'er  should  feed 
On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed ! 
Woe  worth  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day, 
That  costs  thy  hfe,  my  gallant  gray ! " 


1  ["  The  terra  Trosachs  signifies  tlie  rough  or  bristled  ter- 
ritory."— Graham.  1 


CAXTO  I.l  THE    CHASE. 


Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds, 
From  vain  pursuit  to  call  the  hounds. 
Back  limp'd,  with  slow  and  crippled  pace 
The  sulky  leaders  of  the  chase  ; 
Close  to  their  master's  side  they  press'd, 
With  drooping  tail,  and  humbled  crest ; 
But  still  the  dingle's  hollow  thi'oat 
Prolonoj'd  the  swellinor  buojle-note. 
The  owlets  started  from  their  dream, 
The  eagles  answer'd  with  their  scream, 
Round  and  ai'ound  the  sounds  were  cast 
Till  echo  seem'd  an  answering  blast ; 
And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  way,^ 
To  join  some  comrades  of  the  day ; 
Yet  often  paused,  so  strange  the  road, 
So  wondrous  were  the  scenes  it  show'd. 


XI. 

The  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
RoU'd  o'er  the  glen  their  level  way  i 
Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire. 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  hving  fire. 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below, 
Where  twined  the  path  in  shadow  hid, 
Round  many  a  rocky  pyramid, 


1  [MS. — "  And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  pace. 
To  meet  some  comrades  of  the  chute. 

3 


34  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.        fCANTO  I 

Shooting  abruptly  from  the  dell 
Its  thunder-splinter'd  pinnacle ; 


Round  many  an  insulated  mass, 
The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pas: 
Huge  as  the  tower  which  builders  vain  ^       ^pi  \) 


The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass,*  \V^ 

Presumptuous  piled  on  Shinar's  plain.*    ^  -^^ 

The  rocky  summits,  split  and  rent, 

Form'd  turret,  dome,  or  battlement. 

Or  seem'd  fantastically  set 

With  cupola  or  minaret. 

Wild  crests  as  pagod  ever  deck'd, 

Or  mosque  of  Eastern  architect. 

Nor  were  these  earth-born  castles  bare,' 

Nor  lack'd  they  many  a  banner  fair  ; 

For,  from  their  shiver'd  brows  displayed, 

Far,  o'er  the  unfathomable  glade, 

All  twinkling  with  the  dew-drops  sheen,* 

The  brier-rose  fell  in  streamers  green, 

And  creeping  shrubs,  of  thousand  dyes. 

Waved  in  the  west-wind's  summer  sighs. 


XII. 

Boon  nature  scatter'd,  free  and  wild. 
Each  plant  or  flower,  the  mountain's  child- 
Here  eglantine  embalm'd  the  air, 

1  [MS. — "  The  mimic  castles  of  the  pass."] 
3  The  Tower  of  Babel.— Genesis,  xi.  1-9. 

3  [MS.—"  Nor  were  these  mighty  bulwarks  bare."] 

4  [MS.^^^  Blight  glistening  with  the  dewdrops  sheen."] 


BAMTOI.]  THE    CHASE.  35 

Hawthorn  and  hazel  mingled  there  ; 
The  primrose  pale  and  violet  flower, 
Found  in  each  cliff  a  narrow  bower  ; 
Foxglove  and  nightshade,  side  by  side, 
Emblems  of  punishment  and  pride, 
Group'd  their  dark  hues  with  every  stain 
The  weather-beaten  crags  retain. 
With  boughs  that  quaked  at  every  breath, 
Gray  birch  and  aspen  wept  beneath  ; 
Aloft,  the  ash  and  warrior  oak 
Cast  anchor  in  the  rifted  rock  ; 
And,  liigher  yet,  the  pine-tree  hung 
His  shatter'd  trunk,  and  frequent  flung,* 
Where  seera'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  boughs  athwart  the  narrowed  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced. 
Where  ghst'ning  streamers  waved  and  danced, 
The  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  view, 
The  summer  heaven's  delicious  blue  ; 
So  wondrous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 
The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream. 

XIII. 

Onward,  amid  the  copse  'gan  peep 
A  narrow  inlet,  still  and  deep, 

'  [MS. — "  His  scathed  trunk,  and  frequent  flung, 
Where  seemed  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  rugged  arms  athwart  the  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced, 
Where  twinkling  streamers  waved  and  danced."] 


36  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  fCANTO  I 

Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  brim,^ 
As  served  the  wild-duck's  brood  to  swim. 
Lost  for  a  space,  through  thickets  veering, 
But  broader  when  again  appearing, 
Tall  rocks  and  tufted  knolls  their  face 
Could  on  the  dark-blue  mirror  trace  ; 
And  farther  as  the  hunter  stray'd. 
Still  broader  sweep  its  channels  made. 
The  shaggy  mounds  no  longer  stood. 
Emerging  from  entangled  wood,^ 
But,  wave-encircled,  seem'd  to  float, 
Like  castle  girdled  with  its  moat ; 
Yet  broader  floods  extending  still 
Divide  them  from  their  parent  hill, 
Till  each,  retiring,  claims  to  be 
An  islet  in  an  inland  sea. 

XIV. 

And  now,  to  issue  from  the  glen. 
No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken, 
Unless  he  chmb,  with  footing  nice, 
A  far  projecting  precipice.* 


1  [MS. — "  Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  flood, 

As  served  to  float  the  wild-duck's  brood."] 
3  [MS. — "  Emerging  dry-shod  from  the  wood."] 
•  Until  the  present  road  was  made  through  the  romantic 
Dass  which  I  have  presumptuously  attempted  to  describe  in 
the  preceding  stanzas,  there  was  no  mode  of  issuing  out  of 
the  defile  called  the  Trosachs,  excepting  by  a  sort  of  ladder 
composed  of  the  branches  and  roots  of  trees 


SASTO  I.] 


THE    CHASK,  3^ 


The  broom's  tough  roots  his  ladder  made. 

The  hazel  saphngs  lent  theii-  aid ; 

And  thus  an  airy  point  he  won, 

Where,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 

One  buruish'd  sheet  of  living  gold. 

Loch  Katnne  lay  beneath  him  roU'd,* 

In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay, 

"With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay. 

And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 

Floated  amid  the  liveher  light. 

And  mountains,  that  hke  giants  stand. 

To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 

High  on  the  south,  huge  Benvenue  ^ 

Down  on  the  lake  in  masses  threw 

Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurl'd, 

The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world ; 

A  wildering  forest  feather'd  o'er 

His  ruin'd  sides  and  summit  hoar,^ 

While  on  the  north,  through  middle  an-, 

Ben-an  *  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare.* 

1  [Loch  Ketturin  is  the  Celtic  pronunciation.    In  his  Notes 
to  "The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  the  author  lias  signified  his  be- 
lief that  the  lake  was  named  after  the  Catterms,  or  wild  rob 
bers,  who  haunted  its  shores.] 
■      2  [Benvenue— is  literally  the  little  mountain— i.  e.  as  con 
*^     Irasted  with  Benledi  and  Beulomond.] 

«  [MS.—"  His  ruined  sides  and  fragments  hoar, 
While  on  the  north  to  middle  air."] 

4  [According  to  Graham,  Ben-an,  or  Bennan,  is  a  mere 
ijminutive  of  5en— Mountain.] 

5  [Perhaps  the  art  of  landscape-painting  in  poetry,  has 


6 


Q/r\^ 


-^J^ 


88  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.         (CANTO  I 

XV. 

From  the  steep  promontory  gazed* 

The  stranger  raptured  and  amazed. 

And,  "  What  a  scene  were  here,"  he  cried, 

"  For  princely  pomp,  or  churchman's  pride ! 

On  this  bold  brow,  a  lordly  tower ; 

In  that  soft  vale,  a  lady's  bower ; 

On  yonder  meadow,  far  away, 

The  turrets  of  a  cloister  gray ; 

How  blithely  might  the  bugle-horn 

Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  morn  ! 

How  sweet,  at  eve,  the  lover's  lute 

Chime,  when  the  groves  were  still  and  mute ! 

And,  when  the  midnight  moon  should  lave 

Her  forehead  in  the  silver  wave, 

How  solemn  on  the  ear  would  come 

The  holy  matin's  distant  hum. 

While  the  deep  peal's  commanding  tone 

Should  wake,  in  yonder  islet  lone, 

never  been  displayed  in  higher  perfection  than  in  these  stan- 
tsxs,  to  which  rigid  criticism  might  possibly  object  that  the 
picture  is  somewhat  too  minute,  and  that  tlie  contemplation 
of  it  detains  the  traveller  somewhat  too  long  from  the  main 
pui'pose  of  his  pilgrimage,  but  which  it  would  be  an  act  of 
the  greatest  injustice  to  break  into  fragments,  and  present  by 
piecemeal.  Not  so  the  magnificent  scene  which  bui-sts  upon 
the  bewildered  hunter  as  he  emerges  at  length  from  the  dell, 
jmd  commands,  at  one  view,  the  beautiful  expanse  of  Loch 
KA\nner]—Cntl/:al  Eeview,  August,  1820. 
*  [MS. — "  From  the  high  promontory  gazed 

The  stranger,  awestruck  and  amazed.") 


CAJTTO  I.J  THE    CHASE.  99 

A  sainted  hermit  from  his  cell, 
To  drop  a  bead  with  every  knell — 
And  bugle,  lute,  and  bell,  and  all, 
Should  each  bewildei-'d  stranger  call 
To  friendly  feast  and  lighted  halh* 

XYI. 

<*  Blithe  were  it  then  to  wander  here ! 
But  now,— beshrew  yon  nimble  deer, — 
Like  that  same  hermit's,  thin  and  spare. 
The  copse  must  give  my  evenmg  fare ; 
Some  mossy  bank  my  couch  must  be, 
Some  rustling  oak  my  canopy.' 
Yet  pass  we  that ;  the  war  and  chase 
Give  Httle  choice  of  resting-place  ; — 
A  summer  night,  in  greenwood  spent. 
Were  but  to-morrow's  merriment : 
But  hosts  may  in  these  wilds  abound. 
Such  as  are  better  missed  than  found ; 
To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here. 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer. — 

1  [MS.—"  To  hospitable  feast  and  hall."] 

«  [MS.—"  And  hoUow  trunk  of  some  old  tree. 
My  chamber  for  the  night  mtist  6e."] 

«  The  clans  who  inhabited  the  romantic  regions  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Loch  Katrine,  were,  even  untU  a  late 
period,  much  addicted  to  predatory  incursions  upon  their 
Lowland  neighbours.  "Li  former  time?,  those  parts  of  this 
district,  which  are  situated  beyond  the  Grampian  range,  were 
rendered  almost  inaccessible  by  strong  barriers  of  rocks,  and 
mountains,  and  lakes.  It  was  a  border  country,  and  though 
«  the  very  verge  of  the  low  country,  it  was  ahnost  totaUy 


40  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.        [CANTO  L 

I  am  alone ; — my  bugle-strain 
May  call  some  straggler  of  the  train ; 
Or,  fall  the  worst  that  may  betide, 
Ere  now  this  falchion  has  been  tried." 

XVII. 

But  scarce  again  his  horn  he  wound,* 
When  lo !  forth  starting  at  the  sound. 
From  underneath  an  aged  oak, 
That  slanted  from  the  islet  rock, 
A  damsel  guider  of  its  way, 
A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay,^ 

sequestered  from  the  world,  and,  as  it  were,  insulated  with 
respect  to  society.  'Tis  well  known  that  in  the  Highlands, 
it  was,  in  former  times,  accounted  not  only  lawful,  but 
honourable,  among  hostile  tribes,  to  commit  depredations  on 
one  another;  and  these  habits  of  the  age  were  perhaps 
strengthened  in  this  district,  by  the  circumstances  which 
have  been  mentioned.  It  bordered  on  a  countiy,  the  mhabi- 
tants  of  which,  while  they  were  richer,  were  less  warlike  than 
they,  £md  widely  differenced  by  language  and  manners." — 
Graham's  Sketches  of  Scenery  in  PeiihMre,  Edin.  1806,  p.  97. 
The  reader  will  therefore  be  pleased  to  remember,  that  the 
scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  in  a  time, 

"  When  tooming  faulds,  or  sweeping  of  a  glen, 
Had  still  been  held  the  deed  of  gallant  men." 

1  [MS.— "T^e  bugle  shriU  again  he  wound, 

And  Jo!  forth  starting  at  the  sound."] 

«  [MS^"  A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay. 
The  Hunter  left  his  airy  stand, 
And  when  the  boat  had  touch'd  the  sand, 
Conceal'd  he  stood  amid  the  brake, 
To  view  this  Lady  of  tl^e  Lake."] 


CANTO  I.J  THE    CHASE.  41 

That  round  the  promontory  steep 

Led  its  deep  line  in  graceful  sweep. 

Eddying,  in  almost  viewless  wave. 

The  weeping  willow  twig  to  lave, 

And  kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  slow, 

The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow. 

The  boat  had  touch'd  this  silver  strand, 

Just  as  the  Hunter  left  his  stand, 

And  stood  conceal'd  amid  the  brake. 

To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 

She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 

With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent. 

And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent. 

And  locks  flung  back,  and  Hps  apart, 

Like  monument  of  Grecian  art, 

In  listening  mood,  she  seem'd  to  stand. 

The  guardian  Naiad  of  the  strand. 

xviu. 
And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace  ^ 
A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace, 
Of  finer  form,  or  lovelier  face ! 
What  though  the  sun,  with  ardent  frown, 
Had  shghtly  tinged  her  cheek  with  brown, — 
The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light. 
Had  dyed  her  glowing  hue  so  bright, 

I  [MS. — "  A  finer  form,  a  fairer  face, 

Had  never  marble  Nymph  or  Grace, 
That  boasts  the  Grecian  chisel's  trace."] 


4]  THE   LADY   OP   THE   LAKE.        [CASTO  I 

Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show 
Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow : 
What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 
To  measured  mood  had  train'd  her  pace, — 
A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 
Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dash'd  the  dew ; 
E'en  the  slight  harebell  raised  its  head, 
Elastic  from  her  airy  tread : 
What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 
The  accents  of  the  mountain  tongue, — ^ 
Those  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear, 
The  list'ner  held  his  breath  to  hear ! 

XIX. 

Chieftain's  daughter  seem'd  the  maid ; 
satin  snood,^  her  silken  plaid, 
Her  golden  brooch,  such  birth  betray'd. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid 
Such  wild  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing ; 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair. 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care. 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye  : 
Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue, 

»  [MS. — "  The  accents  of  a  stranger  tongue."] 
»  [See  Note  pott,  on  Canto  III.  stanza  6.] 


CAST*  I.]  "^^^    CHASE. 

Gives  back  the  shaggy  banks  more  true, 
Than  every  freeborn  glance  confess'd 
The  guileless  movements  of  her  breast ; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  woe  or  pity  claim'd  a  sigh, 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there, 
Or  meek  devotion  pour'd  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  called  forth 
The  indignant  spirit  of  the  North. 
One  only  passion  unreveal'd, 
With  maiden  pride  the  maid  conceal'd, 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame  ; — 
#  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name  I 

XX. 

Impatient  of  the  silent  horn, 

Now  on  the  gale  her  voice  was  borne : — 

"  Father  ! "  she  cried  ;  the  rodis  around 

Loved  to  prolong  the  gentle  sound. 

A  while  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — * 

*<  Malcolm,  was  thine  the  blast  ?  "  the  name 

Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell. 

The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 

I  [MS.—"  A  space  she  paused,  no  answer  came,— 
*  Alpine,  wa.s  thine  the  blast? '  the  name 
Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell, 
The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 
'  Nor  foe  nor  friend,'  the  stranger  said, 
Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 
The  ttartied  maid,  with  hasty  oar, 
Push'd  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore."] 


43 


44  THE   LADY   OF   THE    LAKE.         [CANTO I 

"  A  stranger  I,"  the  Huntsman  said, 
Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 
The  maid,  alarmed,  with  hasty  oar, 
Push'd  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore, 
And  when  a  space  was  gained  between, 
Closer  she  drew  her  bosom's  screen ; 
(So  forth  the  startled  swan  would  swing,* 
So  turn  to  prune  his  ruffled  Aving ;) 
Then  safe,  though  flutter'd  and  amazed, 
She  paused,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed. 
Not  his  the  form,  nor  his  the  eye, 
That  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly. 

XXI. 

On  his  bold  visage  middle  age 
Had  shghtly  press'd  its  signet  sage, 
Yet  had  not  quench'd  the  open  truth 
And  fiery  vehemence  of  youth  ; 
'Forward  and  frolic  glee  was  there, 
The  will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare. 
The  sparkling  glance,  soon  blown  to  fire, 
Of  hasty  love,  or  headlong  ire. 
His  Hmbs  were  cast  in  manly  mould. 
For  hardy  sports  or  contest  bold ; 
And  though  in  peaceful  garb  arra/d. 
And  weaponless,  except  his  blade. 
His  stately  mien  as  well  implied 
A  high-born  heart,  a  martial  pride, 

1  [MS.—  *'  So  o'er  the  lake  the  swan  would  spring, 
Then  turn  to  prune  its  ruffled  wing.") 


CA>TO  1-1  THE  CHASE.  45 

As  if  a  Baron's  crest  he  wore, 

And  sheathed  m  armour  trod  the  shore. 

SHghting  the  pettj  need  he  show'd, 

He  told  of  his  benighted  road ; 

His  ready  speech  flow'd  fair  and  free, 

In  phrase  of  gentlest  courtesy  ; 

Yet  seem'd  that  tone,  and  gesture  bland. 

Less  used  to  sue  than  to  command. 

XXII. 

A  while  the  maid  the  stranger  eyed, 

And,  reassured,  at  length  replied. 

That  Highland  halls  were  open  still  * 

To  wilder'd  wanderers  of  the  hilL 

"  Nor  think  you  unexpected  come 

To  yon  lone  isle,  our  desert  home  ; 

Before  the  heath  had  lost  the  dew. 

This  mom,  a  couch  was  pull'd  for  you  ; 

On  yonder  mountain's  purple  head 

Have  ptarmigan  and  heath-cock  bled, 

And  our  broad  nets  have  swept  the  mere. 

To  furnish  forth  your  evening  cheer." — 

"  Now,  by  the  rood,  my  lovely  maid,  Cy^.-v-iy^ 

Your  courtesy  has  err'd,"  he  said  ; 

**  No  right  have  I  to  claim,  misplaced, 

The  welcome  of  expected  guest, 

A  wanderer,  here  by  fortune  tost, 

My  way,  my  friends,  my  courser  lost, 

1  [MS.—"  EerfaJhen'  haU  was  open  8tilL"J 


46  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.         f CAXT »  I. 

I  fle'er  before,  believe  me,  fair, 
Have  ever  di-awn  jour  mountain  air. 
Till  on  this  lake's  romantic  strand,^ 
I  found  a  fay  in  fairy  land  !  " 

XXI  ri. 
"  1  well  believe,"  the  maid  replied, 
As  her  light  skiff  approach'd  the  side, — 
"  I  well  believe,  that  ne'er  before 
Your  foot  has  trod  Loch  Katrine's  shore  ; 
But  yet,  as  far  as  yesternight, 
Old  Allan-bane  foretold  your  plight, — 
A  grayhair'd  sire,  whose  eye  intent 
Was  on  the  vision'd  future  bent.* 
He  saw  your  steed,  a  dappled  gray, 
Lie  dead  beneath  the  birchen  way  ; 
Painted  exact  your  form  and  mien, 
Tour  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green, 
That  tassell'd  horn,  so  gayly  gilt. 
That  falchion's  crooked  blade  and  hilt. 
That  cap  with  heron  plumage  trim. 
And  yon  two  hounds  so  dark. and  grim. 
He  bade  tliat  all  should  ready  be, 
To  grace  a  guest  of  fair  degree  ; 
But  light  I  held  Ids  prophecy. 
And  deem'd  it  was  my  father's  horn, 
Whose  echoes  o'er  the  lake  were  borne." — 

1  [MS. — "  Till  ou  the  lake's  enchanting  strand."] 
«  [MS. — "  Js  often  on  the  future  bent."  J 
[See  Appendix,  Note  A.] 


tASTO  1.]  THE    CHASE.  47 

xxrv. 

The  stranger  smiled  :  "  Since  to  your  hooie 

A  destined  errand-knight  I  come. 

Announced  by  prophet  sooth  and  old, 

Doom'd,  doubtless,  for  achievement  bold, 

m  lightly  front  each  high  emprise, 

For  one  kind  glance  of  those  bright  eyes. 

Permit  me,  first,  the  task  to  guide 

Your  fairy  frigate  o'er  the  tide." 

The  maid,  with  smile  suppress'd  and  sly, 

The  toil  unwonted  saw  him  try ; 

For  seldom  sore,  if  e*er  before. 

His  noble  hand  had  grasp'd  an  oar :  ^ 

Yet  with  main  strength  his  strokes  he  drew, 

And  o'er  the  lake  the  shallop  flew ; 

With  heads  erect,  and  whimpering  cry. 

The  hounds  behind  their  passage  ply. 

Nor  frequent  does  the  bright  oar  break 

The  dark'ning  mirror  of  the  lake. 

Until  the  rocky  isle  they  reach, 

And  moor  their  shallop  on  the  beach- 

XXV. 

The  stranger  view'd  the  shore  around  ; 
*Twas  all  so  close  with  copsewood  bound. 
Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 
That  human  foot  frequented  there, 


[MS.—"  Thisgentie  nand  had  grasp'd  an  oar: 

Yet  with  main  strength  ike  oan  he  drew."] 


48  THE   LADY   OP  THE   LAKE.         [canto  i 

Until  the  mountain-maiden  sliow'd 
A  clambering  unsuspected  road, 
That  winded  through  the  tangled  screen, 
And  open'd  on  a  narrow  green, 
Where  weeping  birch  and  willow  round 
With  their  long  fibres  swept  the  ground. 
Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 
Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower.^ 

1  The  Celtic  chieftains,  whose  lives  were  continually  ex- 
posed to  peril,  had  usually,  in  the  most  retired  spot  of  theil 
domains,  some  place  of  reti'cat  for  the  hour  of  necessity, 
•which,  as  circumstances  would  admit,  was  a  tower,  a  cavern, 
or  a  rustic  hut,  in  a  strong  and  secluded  situation.  One  of 
these  last  gave  refuge  to  the  unfortunate  Charles  Edward,  in 
his  perilous  wanderings  after  the  battle  of  Culloden. 

"  It  was  situated  in  the  face  of  a  very  rough,  high,  and 
rocky  mountain,  called  Letternilichk,  still  a  part  of  Benalder, 
full  of  great  stones  and  crevices,  and  some  scattered  wood  in- 
terspersed. The  habitation  called  The  Cage,  in  the  face  of 
that  momitain,  was  within  a  small  thick  bush  of  wood.  There 
were  first  some  rows  of  trees  laid  down,  in  order  to  level  the 
floor  for  a  habitation:  and  as  the  place  was  steep,  this  raised 
the  lower  side  to  an  equal  height  with  the  other:  and  these 
trees,  in  the  way  of  joists  or  planks,  were  levelled  with  earth 
and  gravel.  There  were  betwixt  the  ti-ees,  growing  naturally 
«.n  their  own  roots,  some  stakes  fixed  in  the  earth,  which,  with 
the  trees,  were  interwoven  with  ropes,  made  of  heath  and 
birch  twigs,  up  to  the  top  of  The  Cage,  it  being  of  a  round  ot 
rather  oval  shape ;  and  the  whole  thatched  and  covered  over 
with  fog.  The  whole  fabric  hung,  as  it  were,  by  a  large  ti-ee, 
which  reclined  from  the  one  end,  all  along  the  roof,  to  the 
other,  and  which  gave  it  the  name  of  The  Cage;  and  by 
chance  there  happened  to  be  two  stones  at  a  small  distance  from 
one  another,  in  the  side  next  the  precipice,  resembling  the 
pillars  of  a  chimney,  where  the  fire  was  placed.  The  smoke 
\jad  its  vent  out  here,  all  along  the  fall  of  the  rock,  which  was 


OAirroI.]  THE   CHASE. 


49 


XXVI. 

It  was  a  lodge  of  ample  size, 

But  strange  of  structure  and  devicf ; 

Of  such  materials,  as  around 

The  workman's  hand  had  readiest  found. 

Lopp'd  of  their  boughs,  their  hoar  trunks  bared, 

And  by  the  hatchet  rudely  squared, 

To  give  the  walls  their  destined  height, 

The  sturdy  oak  and  ash  unite ; 

While  moss  and  clay  and  leaves  combmed 

To  fence  each  crevice  from  the  wind. 

The  lighter  pine-trees,  overhead, 

Their  slender  length  for  rafters  spread. 

And  wither'd  heath  and  rushes  dry 

Supplied  a  russet  canopy. 

Due  westward,  fronting  to  the  green, 

A  rural  portico  was  seen, 

Aloft  on  native  pillars  borne, 

Of  mountain  fir  with  bark  unshorn, 

Where  Ellen's  hand  had  taught  to  twine 

The  ivy  and  Idaean  vine, 

The  clematis,  the  favour'd  flower 

Which  boasts  the  name  of  virgin-bower, 

And  every  hardy  plant  could  bear 

Loch  Katrine's  keen  and  searching  air. 

An  instant  in  this  porch  she  staid. 

And  gayly  to  the  stranger  said, 

}o  much  of  the  same  colour,  that  one  could  discover  no  differ- 
ence m  the  clearest  day."— Home's  Eistory  of  the  R^beUum, 
Und.  1802,  4to,  p.  381. 

4 


50  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.         [CAWTO  L 

"  On  heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call, 
And  enter  the  enchanted  hall ! " — 


XXVII. 

"  My  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be, 

My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." — 

He  cross'd  the  threshold — and  a  clang 

Of  angry  steel  that  instant  rang. 

To  his  bold  brow  his  spirit  rush'd. 

But  soon  for  vain  alarm  he  blush'd, 

When  on  the  floor  he  saw  display'd, 

Cause  of  the  din,  a  naked  blade 

Dropp'd  from  the  sheath,  that  careless  flung 

Upon  a  stag's  huge  antlers  swung ; 

For  all  around  the  walls  to  grace, 

Hung  trophies  of  the  fight  or  chase : 

A  target  there,  a  bugle  here, 

A  battle-axe,  a  hunting  spear. 

And  broadswords,  bows,  and  arrows  store, 

With  the  tusk'd  trophies  of  the  boar. 

Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died,* 

And  there  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide 

The  frontlet  of  the  elk  adorns. 

Or  mantles  o'er  the  bison's  horns  ; 

Pennons  and  flags  defaced  and  stain'd, 

That  blackening  streaks  of  blood  retain'd, 

I  [MS. — "  Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died, 
There  hung:  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide, 
Above  the  elk's  branch' d  brow  and  skull, 
And  frontlet  of  the  forest  bull."] 


CAHTOI.]  THE    CHASE.  51 

And  deer-skins,  dappled,  dun  and  white. 
With  otter's  fur  and  seal's  unite, 
In  rude  and  imcouth  tapestry  all. 
To  garnish  forth  the  sylvan  hall. 

xxvm. 
The  wandering  stranger  round  him  gazed, 
And  next  the  fallen  weapon  raised : — 
Few  were  the  arras  whose  sinewy  strength 
Sufficed  to  stretch  it  forth  at  length. 
And  as  the  brand  he  poised  and  swa/d, 
**  I  never  knew  but  one,"  he  said, 
"  Whose  stalwart  arm  might  brook  to  wield 
A  blade  like  this  in  battle-field." 
She  sigh'd,  then  smiled  and  took  the  word ; 
"  You  see  the  guardian  champion's  sword ; 
As  light  it  trembles  in  his  hand, 
As  in  my  grasp  a  hazel  wand  ; 
My  su-e's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part     / 
Of  Ferragus,  or  Ascabart ;  ^  ^ 

But  in  the  absent  giant's  hold 
Are  women  now,  and  menials  old.** 

XXIX. 

The  mistress  of  the  mansion  came, 
Mature  of  age,  a  graceful  dame  ; 
Whose  easy  step  and  stately  port 
Had  well  become  a  princely  coort, 

I  [See  Appendix^  Note  B.] 


52  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.         [CANTO 1. 

To  whom,  though  more  than  kindred  knew, 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  due.^ 

Meet  welcome  to  her  guest  she  made, 

And  every  courteous  rite  was  paid, 

That  hospitality  could  claim, 

Though  all  unask'd  his  birth  and  name.' 

Such  then  the  reverence  to  a  guest. 

That  fellest  foe  might  join  the  feast. 

And  from  his  deadliest  foeman's  door 

TJnquestion'd  turn,  the  banquet  o'er. 

At  length  his  I'ank  the  stranger  names, 

"  The  Knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-James 

Lord  of  a  barren  heritage. 

Which  his  brave  sires,  from  age  to  age, 

By  their  good  swords  had  held  with  toil ; 

His  sire  had  fall'n  in  such  turmoil. 

And  he,  God  wot,  was  forced  to  stand 

Oft  for  his  right  with  blade  in  hand. 

This  morning  with  Lord  Moray's  train 

He  chased  ^  stalwart  stag  in  vain, 

Outstripp'd  his  comrades,  miss'd  the  deei, 

Lost  his  good  steed,  and  wander'd  here." 

*  [MS. — "  To  whom,  though  more  remote  her  claim, 
Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  name."] 

^  The  Highlanders,  who  carried  hospitality  to  a  punctilious 
excess,  are  said  to  have  considered  it  as  churlish,  to  ask  a 
•tranger  his  name  or  lineage,  before  he  had  taken  refrosament. 
Feuds  were  so  frequent  among  them,  that  a  contr.vy  rule 
would  in  many  cases  have  produced  the  discovery  c  f  some 
eircumstauce,  which  might  have  excluded  the  guesi;  ft-om  the 
benefit  of  the  assistance  he  stood  in  need  of. 


CAHTO  Lj  THE    CHASE.  53 

XXX. 

Fain  would  the  Knight  in  turn  require 
The  name  and  state  of  Ellen's  sire ; 
Well  show'd  the  elder  lady's  mien/ 
That  courts  and  cities  she  had  seen ; 
Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  displayed  * 
The  simple  grace  of  sylvan  maid, 
In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  face, 
Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race. 
*Twere  strange  in  ruder  rank  to  find 
Such  looks,  such  manners,  and  such  mind. 
.  Each  hint  the  Knight  of  Snowdoun  gave, 
V  Dame  Margaret  heard  with  silence  grave ; 
Or  Ellen,  innocently  gay, 
Tum'd  all  inquiry  light  away : — 
"  "Weird  women  we !  by  dale  and  down 
We  dwell,  afar  from  tower  and  town. 
We  stem  the  flood,  we  ride  the  blast, 
On  wandering  knights  our  spells  we  cast ; 
While  viewless  minstrels  touch  the  string, 
'Tis  thus  our  charmed  rhymes  we  sing." 

1  [MS. — "  Well  show'd  the  mother's  easy  mien."] 

2  [MS. — "  Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  betrayed 

The  simple  heart  of  mountain  maid, 
In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  grace, 
Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race; 
'Twas  strange,  in  birth  so  rude,  to  find 
Such  face,  such  manners,  and  such  mind. 
Each  anxums  hint  the  stranger  gave, 
The  mother  heard  with  silence  grave."] 


54  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.        [CAHTO  I. 

She  sung,  and  still  a  harp  unseen 
Fill'd  up  the  symphony  between.^ 

1 "  They "  (meaning  the  Highlanders)  "deliglit  much  in 
music,  but  chiefly  in  harps  and  clairschoes  of  their  ovra 
fashion.  The  strings  of  the  clairschoes  are  made  of  brass 
wire,  and  the  strings  of  the  harps  of  sinews;  which  strings 
they  strike  either  with  their  nayles,  growing  long,  or  else 
with  an  instrument  appointed  for  that  use.  They  take  great 
pleasure  to  decke  their  harps  and  clairschoes  with  silver  and 
precious  stones ;  the  poor  ones  that  cannot  attayne  hereunto, 
decke  them  with  christall.  They  sing  verses  prettily  com- 
pound, contayning  (for  the  most  part)  pray.«es  of  valiant 
men.  There  is  not  ahnost  any  other  argument,  whereof  their 
rhymes  intreat.  They  speak  the  ancient  French  language 
altered  a  little."  i — "  The  harp  and  clairschoes  are  now  only 
heard  of  in  the  Highlands  in  ancient  song.  At  what  period 
these  instruments  ceased  to  be  used,  is  not  on  record ;  and 
tradition  is  silent  on  this  head.  But,  as  Irish  harpers  occa- 
sionally visited  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles  till  lately, 
the  harp  might  have  been  extant  so  late  as  the  middle  of  the 
present  century.  Thus  far  we  know,  that  from  remote  times 
down  to  the  present,  harpers  were  received  as  welcome 
guests,  particularly  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland;  and  so 
late  as  the  latter  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  as  appears  by 
the  above  quotation,  the  harp  was  in  common  use  among  the 
natives  of  the  Western  Isles.  How  it  happened  that  the 
noisy  and  unharmonious  bagpipe  banished  the  soft  and  ex- 
pressive harp,  we  cannot  say;  but  certain  it  is,  that  the  bag- 
pipe is  now  the  only  instrument  that  obtains  universally  in 
the  Highland  districts." — Campbell's  Journey  (hrouyh  North 
Britain.     Lond.  1808,  4to,  I.  175. 

Mr.  Gunn,  of  Edinburgh,  has  lately  published  a  curious 
Essay  upon  the  Harp  and  Harp  Music  of  the  Highlands  of 

I  Vide  "  Certayne  Matters  concerning  the  Realms  of  Scot- 
Und,  &c.  as  they  were  Anno  Domini  1697.  Lond.,  1608." 
ito. 


OAXTO  l]  THE    CHASE.  56 

XXXI. 

SOXG. 

^  Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfai'e  o'er, 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking : 
Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall, 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing; 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Dream  of  fiorhtinoj  fields  no  more  : 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking. 
Mom  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 

"  No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear,^ 
Armour's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing, 

Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 

Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come 
At  the  daybreak  from  the  fallow, 

Scotland-  That  the  instniment  was  once  in  common  use 
there,  is  most  certain.  Cleland  numbers  an  acquaintance 
mth  it  among  the  few  accomplishments  which,  hia  satire 
lllows  to  the  Highlanders  :— 

"In  nothing  they're  accounted  sharp 
Except  in  bagpipe  or  in  harp." 

1  [MS. — "  Noon  of  hunger,  night  of  waking. 

No  rude  sound  shall  rcu»e  thine  ear."] 


56  THE    LADY    OP   THE    LAKE.         [CAUTO  I. 

And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum, 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near, 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here, 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 
Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping." 

XXXII. 

She  paused — then,  blushing,  led  the  lay  * 
To  grace  the  stranger  of  the  day. 
Her  mellow  notes  awhile  prolong 
The  cadence  of  the  flowing  song, 
Till  to  her  lips  in  measured  frame 
The  minstrel  verse  spontaneous  came. 

SONO   CONTINUED. 

*'  Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done, 

While  our  slumbrous  spells  assail  ye,* 
Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun, 

Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveille. 
Sleep !  the  deer  is  in  his  den ; 

Sleep !  thy  hounds  are  by  thee  lying ; 
Sleep  !  nor  dream  in  yonder  glen. 

How  thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 
Huntsman,  rest ;  thy  chase  is  done, 
Think  not  of  the  rising  sun, 

*  [MS. — "  She  paused — but  waked  again  the  lay.''] 

(  "  Shimber  sweet  our  spells  shall  deal  ye, 

••      *      J  Let  our  slumbrous  spells -5  '   '    ., 

C  (.  beguile  ye."] 


CASTO  I.]  THE    CHASE.  ^7 

For  at  dawning  to  assail  ye, 
Here  uo  bugles  sound  reveiUe.** 


XXXIII. 

The  hall  was  clear'd — the  stranger's  bed 

Was  there  of  mountain  heather  spread. 

Where  oft  a  hundred  guests  had  lain, 

And  dream'd  their  forest  sports  again.' 

But  vainly  did  the  heath-flower  shed 

Its  moorland  fragrance  round  his  head ; 

Not  Ellen's  spell  had  luU'd  to  rest 

The  fever  of  his  troubled  breast. 

In  broken  dreams  the  image  rose 

Of  varied  perils,  pains,  and  woes : 

His  steed  now  flounders  in  the  brake, 

Now  sinks  his  barge  upon  the  lake ; 

Now  leader  of  a  broken  host. 

His  standard  falls,  his  honour's  lost. 

Then, — from  my  couch  may  heavenly  might 

Chase  that  worst  phantom  of  the  night ! — 

Again  return'd  the  scenes  of  youth. 

Of  confident  undoubting  truth ; 

Again  his  soul  he  interchanged 

With  friends  whose  hearts  were  long  estranged. 

They  come,  in  dim  procession  led. 

The  cold,  the  faithless,  and  the  dead  ; 

As  warm  each  hand,  each  brow  as  gay, 

As  if  they  parted  yesterday. 

I  [MS. — "  And  dream'd  their  mountain  chase  again.**} 


58  THE   LADY    OF   THE   LAKE.        fCAJTIO  I 

And  doubt  distracts  him  at  the  view, 
O  were  his  senses  false  or  true ! 
Dream'd  he  of  death,  or  broken  tow. 
Or  is  it  all  a  vision  now !  ^ 

XXXIV. 

At  length,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 

He  seem'd  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love ; 

She  listen'd  with  a  blush  and  sigh, 

His  suit  was  warm,  his  hopes  were  high. 

He  sought  her  yielded  hand  to  clasp. 

And  a  cold  gauntlet  met  his  grasp : 

The  phantom's  sex  was  changed  and  gone, 

Upon  its  head  a  helmet  shone ; 

Slowly  enlarged  to  giant  size, 

With  darkened  cheek  and  threatening  eyes, 

1  ["Ye  guardian  spirits,  to  whom  man  is  dear, 

From  these  foul  demons  shield  the  midnight  gloonj, 
Angels  of  fancy  and  of  love,  be  near, 

And  o'er  the  blank  of  sleep  diflfuse  a  bloom. 
Evoke  the  sacred  shades  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

And  let  them  virtiae  with  a  look  impart; 
But  chief,  awhile,  0 !  len'd  us  from  the  tomb 

Those  long-lost  friends  for  whom  in  love  we  smnrt, 
And  fill  with  pious  awe  and  joy-mixt  woe  the  heart. 

"  Or  are  you  sportive? — bid  the  morn  of  youth 

Rise  to  new  light,  and  beam  afresh  the  days 
Of  innocence,  simplicity,  and  truth ; 

To  cares  estranged,  and  manhood's  thorny  ways. 
What  transport,  to  retrace  our  boyish  plays, 

Our  easy  bliss,  when  each  thing  joy  supplied; 
The  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  warbling  maze 

Of  the  wild  brooks  1  ''—Castle  of  Indolence.,  Canto  I.] 


OAXTOI.].  THE    CHASE.  59 

The  grisly  visage,  stern  and  hoar, 

To  Ellen  still  a  likeness  bore. — 

He  woke,  and,  panting  with  affright, 

Recall'd  the  vision  of  the  night.^ 

The  hearth's  decaying  brands  were  red, 

And  deep  and  dusky  lustre  shed, 

Half  showing,  half  concealing,  all 

The  uncouth  trophies  of  the  hall. 

Mid  those  the  stranger  fix'dhis  eye, 

Where  that  huge  falchion  hung  on  high, 

And  thoughts  on  thoughts,  a  countless  throng, 

Rush'd,  chasing  countless  thoughts  along. 

Until,  the  giddy  whirl  to  cure. 

He  rose,  and  sought  the  moonshine  pure. 

XXXV. 

The  wild-rose,  eglantine,  and  broom, 
Wasted  around  their  rich  pei'fume  :  ^ 

1  ["  Such  a  strange  and  romantic  dream  as  may  be  nata- 
rally  expected  to  flow  from  the  extraordinary  events  of  the 
past  day.  It  might,  perhaps,  be  quoted  as  one  of  Mr.  Scott's 
most  successful  efforts  in  descriptive  poetry.  Some  few  lines 
of  it  are  indeed  unrivalled  from  delicacy  and  melancholy 
tenderness." — Critical  Review.] 

the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
Loch  Katrine's  still  expanse; 
The  birch,  the  wild-rose,  and  the  broom, 

"Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  balmy  dew; 
The  aspen  slept  on  Benvenue; 
Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passions'  power 
Defied  the  influence  of  the  hour."] 


[MS.— "Play'donj 


60  THE    LADY    OF   THlC    LAKE.         ]  CANTO  l. 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  fragrant  balm, 

The  aspens  slept  beneath  the  calm ; 

The  silver  hght,  with  quivering  glance, 

Play'd  on  the  water's  still  expanse, — 

Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passions'  sway 

Could  rage  beneath  the  sober  ray ! 

He  felt  its  calm,  that  warrior  guest, 

While  thus  he  communed  with  his  breast : — 

"  Why  is  it,  at  each  turn  I  trace 

Some  memory  of  that  exiled  race  ? 

Can  I  not  mountain-maiden  spy. 

But  she  must  bear  the  Douglas  eye  ? 

Can  I  not  view  a  Highland  brand. 

But  it  must  match  the  Douglas  hand  ? 

Can  I  not  frame  a  fever'd  dream, 

But  still  the  Douglas  is  the  theme  ? 

I'll  dream  no  more — ^by  manly  mind 

Not  even  in  sleep  is  will  resign'd. 

My  midnight  orisons  said  o'er, 

I'll  turn  to  rest,  and  dream  no  more." 

His  midnight  orisons  he  told, 

A  prayer  with  every  bead  of  gold. 

Consigned  to  heaven  his  cares  and  woes. 

And  sunk  in  undisturb'd  repose  ; 

Until  the  heath-cock  shrilly  crew, 

And  morning  dawn'd  on  Benvenue. 


THB 


LADY  OF   THE   LAKE 


CANTO    SECOND. 


THE    ISLAND 


THE 


LADY   OF  THE   LAKE 


CAin.v   SECOND. 


THE  ISLAND. 


L 

At  mora  the  black-cock  trims  his  jetty  wing, 

Tis  morning  prompts  the  linnet's  bUthest  lay, 
All  Nature's  children  feel  the  matin  spring 

Of  life  reviving,  ^vith  reviving  day  ; 
And  while  yon  little  bark  glides  down  the  bay, 

Wafting  the  stranger  on  his  way  again, 
Mora's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  gray, 

And   sweetly   o'er   the    lake  was    heard    thy 
strain, 
Mix'd   with   the   sounding   harp,  0  white  hair'd 
Allan-bane !  ^ 

I  That  Highland  chieftains,  to  a  late  period,  retained  in 
their  service  the  bard,  as  a  family  oflScer,  admits  of  very 
easy  proof.    The  author  of  the  Letters  from  the  North  of 


64  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       [CAMTO  IL 

II. 

SONO. 

**  Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might 

Flings  from  their  oars  the  spray, 
Not  faster  yonder  rippling  bright, 
That  tracks  the  shallop's  course  in  light, 
Melts  in  the  lake  away, 

Scotland,  an  ofl5cer  of  engineers,  quartered  at  Inverness 
about  1720,  who  certainly  cannot  be  deemed  a  favourable 
witness,  gives  the  following  account  of  the  oflSce,  and  of  a 
bard  whom  he  heard  exercise  his  talent  of  recitation :  "  The 
bard  is  skilled  in  the  genealogy  of  all  the  Highland  families, 
sometimes  preceptor  to  the  young  laird,  celebrates  in  Irish 
verse  the  original  of  the  tribe,  the  famous  warlike  actions  of 
the  successive  heads,  and  sings  his  own  lyricks  as  an  opiate 
to  the  chief,  when  indisposed  for  sleep;  but  poets  are  not 
equally  esteemed  and  honoured  in  all  countries.  I  happened 
to  be  a  witness  of  the  dishonour  done  to  the  muse,  at  the 
house  of  one  of  the  chiefs,  where  two  of  these  bards  were  set 
at  a  good  distance,  at  the  lower  end  of  a  long  table,  with  a 
parcel  of  Highlanders  of  no  extraordinary  appearance,  over 
a  cup  of  ale.  Poor  inspiration!  They  were  not  asked  to 
drink  a  glass  of  wine  at  our  table,  though  the  whole  company 
consisted  only  of  the  great  man,  one  of  his  near  relations,  and 
myself.  After  some  little  time,  the  chief  ordered  one  of  them 
to  sing  me  a  Highland  song.  The  bard  readily  obeyed,  and 
with  a  hoarse  voice,  and  in  a  tune  of  few  various  notes,  be- 
gan, as  I  was  told,  one  of  his  own  lyricks;  and  when  he  had 
proceeded  to  the  founh  or  fifth  stanza,  1  perceived  by  the 
names  of  several  persons,  glens,  and  mountains,  which  1  had 
known  or  heard  of  before,  that  it  was  an  account  of  some 
clan  battle.  But  in  his  going  on,  the  chief  (who  piques  him- 
Belf  upon  his  school-learning)  at  some  particular  passage,  bid 
him  cease,  and  cried  out,  '  There's  Bothing  like  that  in  Virgil 
or  Homer.'  I  bowed  and  told  him  I  believed  so.  This  you  may 
Wieve  was  very  edifying  and  delightful." — Letters^  ii.  167. 


OABTOII.]  THE   ISLAND.  65 

Than  men  from  memory  erase 

The  benefits  of  former  days  ; 

Then,  stranger,  go  !  good  speed  the  while, 

Nor  think  again  of  the  lonely  isle. 

"  High  place  to  thee  in  royal  court, 

High  place  in  battle  line, 
Good  hawk  and  hound  for  sylvan  sport, 
Where  beauty  sees  the  brave  resort,^ 

The  honour'd  meed  be  thine  ! 
True  be  thy  sword,  thy  friend  sincere. 
Thy  lady  constant,  kind,  and  dear. 
And  lost  in  love  and  friendship's  smile 
Be  memory  of  the  lonely  isle. 

m. 

SONG   CONTIJarED. 

"  But  if  beneath  yon  southern  sky 

A  plaided  stranger  roam. 
Whose  drooping  crest  and  stifled  sigh, 
And  sunken  cheek  and  heavy  eye, 

Pine  for  his  Highland  home  ; 
Then,  warrior,  then  be  thine  to  show 
The  care  that  soothes  a  wanderer's  woe ; 
Remember  then  thy  liap  ere  while, 
A  stranger  in  the  lonely  isle. 

**  Or  if  on  life's  uncertain  main 

Mishap  shall  mar  thy  sail ; 
1  [MS.—"  At  tourneys  where  the  brave  resort/'J 


66  THE   LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.        [CAUTO  IL 

If  faithful,  wise,  and  brave  in  vain. 
Woe,  want,  and  exile  thou  sustain 

Beneath  the  fickle  gale  ; 
Waste  not  a  sigh  on  fortune  changed. 
On  thankless  courts,  or  friends  estranged, 
But  come  where  kindred  worth  shall  smile, 
To  greet  thee  in  the  lonely  isle." 

rv. 
As  died  the  sounds  upon  the  tide. 
The  shallop  reach'd  the  mainland  side, 
And  ere  his  onward  way  he  took, 
The  stranger  cast  a  lingering  look, 
Where  easily  his  eye  might  reach 
The  Harper  on  the  islet  beach. 
Reclined  against  a  blighted  tree. 
As  wasted,  gray,  and  worn  as  he. 
To  minstrel  meditation  given. 
His  reverend  brow  was  raised  to  heaven. 
As  from  the  rising  sun  to  claim 
A  sparkle  of  inspiring  flame. 
His  hand,  reclined  upon  the  wire, 
Seem'd  watching  the  awakening  fire  ; 
So  still  he  sate,  as  those  who  wait 
Till  judgment  speak  the  doom  of  fate  ; 
So  still,  as  if  no  breeze  might  dare 
To  hft  one  lock  of  hoary  hair  ; 
So  still,  as  life  itself  were  fled, 
Tn  the  last  sound  his  harp  had  sped. 


CANTO  ILJ  THE   ISLAND. 

V. 

(Jpon  a  rock  with  lichens  Avild, 
Beside  him  Ellen  sate  and  smiled. — 
Smiled  she  to  see  the  stately  drake 
Lead  forth  his  fleet  upon  the  lake, 
While  her  vexed  spaniel,  from  the  beach, 
Bay'd  at  the  prize  beyond  his  reach  ? 
Yet  tell  me,  then,  the  maid  who  knows. 
Why  deepen'd  on  her  cheek  the  rose  ? — 
Forgive,  forgive.  Fidelity ! 
Perchance  the  maiden  smiled  to  see 
Yon  parting  lingerer  wave  adieu, 
And  stop  and  turn  to  wave  anew ; 
And,  lovely  ladies,  ere  your  ire 
Condemn  the  heroine  of  my  lyre. 
Show  me  the  fair  would  scorn  to  spy, 
And  prize  such  conquest  of  her  eye  ! 

VI. 

While  yet  he  loiter'd  on  the  spot. 
It  seem'd  as  Ellen  mark'd  him  not ; 
But  when  he  turn'd  him  to  the  glade, 
One  courteous  parting  sign  she  made ; 
And  after,  oft  the  knight  would  say, 
That  not  when  prize  of  festal ^ay 
Was  dealt  him  by  the  brjgmest  fair. 
Who  e'er  wore  jewel, in  her  hair, 
So  highly  did  his  bosom  swell. 
As  at  that  simple  mute  farewell. 
Now  with  a  trusty  mountain-guide, 


67 


68  THE   LADY   OP  THE   LAKE.       [CAinco  n. 

And  his  dark  stag-hounds  by  his  side, 
He  parts — the  maid,  unconscious  still, 
Watched  him  wind  slowly  round  the  hill ; 
But  when  his  stately  form  was  hid, 
The  guardian  in  her  bosom  chid — 
"  Thy  Malcolm  !  vain  and  selfish  maid  I  ** 
'Twas  thus  upbraiding  conscience  said, — 
"  Not  so  had  Malcolm  idly  hung 
On  the  smooth  phrase  of  southern  tongue ; 
Not  so  had  Malcolm  strain'd  his  eye. 
Another  step  than  thine  to  spy.^ 
Wake  Allan-bane,"  aloud  she  cried, 
To  the  old  Minstrel  by  her  side, — 
"  Arouse  thee  from  thy  moody  dream ! 
I'll  give  thy  harp  heroic  theme. 
And  warm  thee  with  a  noble  name ; 
Pour  forth  the  glory  of  the  Graeme  I "  * 

1  [MS.—"  The  loveliest  Lowland  fair  to  spy."] 
•  The  ancient  and  powerful  family  of  Graham  (which,  for 
metrical  reasons  is  here  spelt  after  the  Scottish  pronuncia- 
tion) held  extensive  possessions  in  the  counties  of  Dtunhar* 
ton  and  Stirling.  Few  families  can  boast  of  more  historical 
renown,  having  claim  to  three  of  the  most  remarkable  char- 
acters in  the  Scottish  annals.  Sir  John  the  Graeme,  the  faithful 
and  undaunted  partaker  of  the  labours  and  patriotic  warfare 
of  Wallace,  fell  in  the  unfortunate  field  of  Falkirk,  in  1298. 
The  celebrated  Marquis  of  Montrose,  in  whom  De  Retz  saw 
realized  his  abstract  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity,  was  the  second 
of  these  worthies.  And,  notwithstanding  the  severity  of  his 
temper,  and  the  rigour  with  which  he  executed  the  oppres- 
sive mandates  of  the  princes  whom  he  served,  I  do  not 
nesitate  to  name  as  a  third,  John  Graeme,  of  Claverhouse, 


BAinOII.]  THE   ISLAND.  I 

Scarce  from  her  lips  the  word  had  rush*d, 
When  deep  the  conscious  maiden  blush'd  ; 
For  of  his  clan,  in  hall  and  bower, 
Yomig  Malcolm  Graeme  was  held  the  flower 

vn. 

The  Minstrel  waked  his  harp— three  times 

Arose  the  well-known  martial  chimes, 

And  thrice  their  high  heroic  pride 

In  melancholy  murmurs  died. 

"  Vainly  thou  bid'st,  0  noble  maid," 

Clasping  his  wither'd  hands,  he  said, 

"  Vainly  thou  bid'st  me  wake  the  strain. 

Though  all  unwont  to  bid  in  vain. 

Alas !  than  mine  a  mightier  hand 

Has  tuned  my  hai-p,  my  strings  has  spann'd 

I  touch  the  chords  of  joy,  but  low 

And  mournful  answer  notes  of  woe  ; 

And  the  proud  march,  which  victors  tread. 

Sinks  in  the  wailing  for  the  dead. 

O  well  for  me,  if  mine  alone 

That  dirge's  deep  prophetic  tone  ! 

If,  as  my  tuneful  fathers  said, 

This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  sway*d,^ 


/ 


Visconnt  of  Dundee,  whose  heroic  death,  in  the  armsof  vio- 
tory,  may  be  allowed  to  cancel  the  memory  of  his  cruelty  to 
the  non-conformists,  during  the  reigns  of  Charles  IL  and 
James  II. 

1 1  am  not  prepared  to  show  that  Saint  Modan  was  a  per 
former  on  the  harp.    It  was,  however,  no  unsaintly 


rO  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CANTO  IL 

Can  thus  its  master's  fate  foretell, 
Then  welcome  be  the  minstrel's  knell ! 

plishment;  for  Saint  Dunstan  certainly  did  play  upon  that 
instrument,  which  returning,  as  was  natural,  a  portion  of  the 
sanctity  attached  to  its  master's  character,  announced  future 
events  by  its  spontaneous  sound.  "  But  labouring  once  in 
these  mechanic  arts  for  a  devout  matrone  that  had  sett  him 
on  work,  his  violl,  that  hung  by  him  on  the  wall,  of  its  own 
accord,  without  anie  man's  helpe,  distinctly  sounded  this  an- 
thime:  Gaiulenl  in  calls  anlmoE  samlvrum  qui  Chrlsti  vestigia 
suntsecuti;  el  quia  pro  elus  amove  sanijulnem  suuin  fuderunt^ 
idea  cum  Chrlsto  gaudent  cetei-num.  Whereat  all  the  companie 
being  much  astonished,  turned  their  eyes  from  beholding  him 

working,  to  look  on  that  strange  accident." "  Not  long 

after,  luanie  of  the  court  that  liitherunto  had  borne  a  kind  of 
fayned  friendship  towards  him,  began  now  greatly  to  envie  at 
his  prpgresse  and  rising  in  goodnes,  using  manie  crooked, 
backbiting  meanes  to  ditfame  his  vertues  with  the  black 
maskes  of  hypocrisie.  And  the  better  to  authorize  their 
calumnie,  they  brought  in  this  that  happened  in  the  violl, 
aflSrming  it  to  have  been  done  by  art  magick.  What  more? 
this  wicked  rumour  encreased  dayly,  till  the  king  and  others 
of  the  nobilitie  taking  hould  thereof,  Dunstan  grew  odious  in 
their  sight.  Therefore  he  resolued  to  leaue  the  court,  and  goe 
to  Elphegus,  surnamed  the  Bauld,  then  bishop  of  Winchester, 
■who  was  his  cozen.  Which  his  enemies  understanding,  they 
layd  wayt  for  him  in  the  way,  and  hauing  throwne  him  oflf 
his  horse,  beate  him,  and  dragged  him  in  the  durt  in  the  most 
miserable  manner,  meaning  to  have  slaine  him,  had  not  a 
companie  of  mastiue  dogges,  that  came  unlookt  uppon  them, 
defended  and  redeemed  him  from  their  crueltie.  When  with 
Borrow  he  was  ashamed  to  see  dogges  more  humane  than  they. 
.And  giuing  thankes  to  Almightie  God,  he  sensibly  again  per- 
ceiued  that  the  tunes  of  his  violl  had  giuen  him  a  warning 
of  future  accidents." — Floicer  of  the  Lives  of  the  most  renowned 
Saincts  of  England^  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  by  the  R.  Fatukb 
Ql£BOM£  PoKTBR.     Doway,  1632,  4to,  tome  i  p.  438^ 


GA2rron.]  THE   ISLAND.  71 

vni. 
**  But  ah !  dear  lady,  thus  it  sigh'd 
The  eve  thy  samted  mother  died  ; 
And  such  the  sounds  which,  while  I  stroTe 
To  wake  a  lay  of  war  or  love, 
Came  marring  all  the  festal  mirth. 
Appalling  me  who  gave  them  birth, 
And,  disobedient  to  my  call, 
"Wail'd  loud  through  Bothwell's  banner'd  hall, 
Ere  Douglasses,  to  ruin  driven,^ 
"Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven. — 

The  same  supernatural  circumstance  is  alluded  to  by  Ihe 
anonymous  author  of  "  Grim,  the  Collier  of  Croydon." 

" [Dunstan's  harp^Kmnds  on  the  walL] 

"  ForesL  Hark,  hark,  my  lords,  the  holy  abbot's  harp 

Sounds  by  itself  so  hanging  on  the  wall! 
"  Dunsian.  Unhallow'd  man,  that  scom'st  the  sacred  rede, 

Hark,  how  the  testimony  of  my  truth 

Sounds  heavenly  music  with  an  angel's  hand, 

To  testify  Dunstan's  integrity. 

And  prove  thy  active  boast  of  no  effect." 

1  The  downfall  of  the  Douglasses  of  the  house  of  Angus, 
during  the  reign  of  James  V..  Is  the  event  alluded  to  hi  the 
text.  The  Earl  of  Angus,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  married 
the  queen-dowager,  and  availed  himself  of  the  right  which  he 
thus  acquired,  as  well  as  of  his  extensive  power,  to  retain  the 
king  in  a  sort  of  tutelage,  which  approached  very  near  to 
captivity.  Several  open  attempts  were  made  to  rescue  James 
from  this  thraldom,  with  which  he  was  well  known  to  be 
deeply  disgusted;  but  the  valour  of  the  Douglasses,  and  their 
allies,  gave  them  the  victory  in  every  conflict.  At  length, 
the  king,  while  residing  at  Falkland,  contrived  to  escape  by 
night  out  of  his  own  court  and  palace,  and  rode  full  speed  to 
Stirling  Castle,  where  the  governor,  who  was  of  the  opposU 


72  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CAHTO IL 

Oh !  if  yet  worse  mishap  and  woe, 
My  master's  house  must  undergo, 
Or  aught  but  weal  to  Ellen  fair, 
Brood  in  these  accents  of  despair. 
No  future  bard,  sad  Harp  !  shall  fling 
Triumph  or  rapture  from  thy  string  ; 

Taction,  joyfully  received  him.  Being  thus  at  liberty,  Jaraea 
speedily  summoned  around  him  such  peers  as  he  knew  to  be 
most  inimical  to  the  domination  of  Angus,  and  laid  his  com- 
plaint before  them,  says  Pitscottie,  "  with  great  lamentations: 
bhowing  to  them  how  he  was  holden  in  subjection,  thir  years 
bygone,  by  the  Earl  of  Angus,  and  his  kin  and  friends,  who 
oppressed  the  whole  country,  and  spoiled  it,  under  the  pre- 
tence of  justice  and  his  authority;  and  had  slain  many  of  his 
lieges,  kinsmen,  and  friends,  because  they  would  have  had  it 
mended  at  their  hands,  and  put  him  at  liberty,  as  he  ought  to 
have  been  at  the  counsel  of  his  whole  lords,  and  not  have 
been  subjected  and  corrected  with  no  particular  men,  by  the 
rest  of  his  nobles:  Therefore,  said  he,  I  desire,  my  lords,  that 
I  may  be  satisfied  of  the  said  earl,  his  kin,  and  friends;  for  I 
avow  that  Scotland  shall  not  hold  us  both,  while  [t.  e.  till]  I 
be  revenged  on  him  and  his. 

"  The  Lords  hearing  the  king's  complaint  and  lamentation, 
and  also  the  great  rage,  fury,  and  malice,  that  he  bore  toward 
the  Earl  of  Angus,  his  kin  and  friends,  they  concluded  all, 
and  thought  it  best  that  he  should  be  summoned  to  underly 
the  law:  if  he  found  no  caution,  nor  yet  compear  himself, 
that  he  should  be  put  to  the  horn,  with  all  his  kin  and  friends, 
BO  many  as  were  contained  in  the  letters.  And  farther,  the 
lords  ordained,  by  advice  of  his  majesty,  that  his  brother  and 
friends  should  be  summoned  to  find  caution  to  underly  the 
law  within  a  certain  day,  or  else  be  put  to  the  horn.  But  the 
earl  appeared  not,  nor  none  for  him:  and  so  he  was  put  to  the 
born,  with  all  his  kin  and  friends :  so  many  as  were  contained 
in  the  summons,  that  compeared  not,  were  banished,  and 
Wden  traitors  to  the  king." 


OA^OllJ  THY.    ISLAND.  73 

aie  short,  one  final  strain  shall  flow, 
Fraught  ^nth  unutterable  woe, 
Tlien^shiver'd  shall  thy  fragments  lie. 
Thy  master -cast  him  down  and  die ! " 

IX. 

Soothing  she  answer'd  him,  "Assuage, 
Ume  honoured  friend,  the  fears  of  age ; 
All  melodies  to  thee  are  known, 
That  harp  has  rung,  or  pipe  has  blown, 
In  Lowland  vale  or  Highland  glen, 
From  Tweed  to  Spey— what  marvel,  then. 
At  times,  unbidden  notes  should  rise, 
Confusedly  bound  in  memory's  ties, 
EntangUng,  as  they  rush  along. 
The  war-march  with  the  funeral  song?— 
Small  ground  is  now  for  boding  fear; 
Obscure,  but  safe,  we  rest  us  here. 
My  sire,  in  native  virtue  great. 
Resigning  lordship,  lands,  and  state. 
Not  then  to  fortune  more  resign'd. 
Than  yonder  oak  might  give  the  wind ; 
The  graceful  foUage  storms  may  reave, 
The  noble  stem  they  cannot  grieve. 
For  me,"— she  stoop'd,  and,  looking  round, 
^Pluck'd  a  blue  hare-bell  from  the  ground,— 
«  For  me,  whose  memory  scarce  conveys 
An  image  of  more  splendid  days, 
This  little  flower,  that  loves  the  lea, 
May  well  my  simple  emblem  be ; 


74.  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  n 

It  di'inks  heaven's  dew  as  blithe  as  rose  * 

That  in  the  king's  own  gai'den  grows ; 

And  when  I  place  it  in  my  hair, 

Allan,  a  bard  is  bound  to  swear' 

He  ne'er  saw  coronet  so  fair." 

Then  playfully  the  chaplet  wild 

She  wreath'd  in  her  dark  locks,  and  smiled. 

X. 

Her  smile,  her  speech,  with  winning  sway, 
Wiled  the  old  harper's  mood  away. 
With  such  a  look  as  hermits  throw, 
When  angels  stoop  to  soothe  their  woe. 
He  gazed,  till  fond  regret  and  pride 
Thrill'd  to  a  tear,  then  thus  rephed  ; 
**  Loveliest  and  best !  thou  little  know'st 
The  rank,  the  honours,  thou  hast  lost ! 
O  might  I  Uve  to  see  thee  grace, 
v/  In  Scotland's  court,  thy  birthright  place. 
To  see  my  favourite's  step  advance,*^ 
The  lightest  in  the  courtly  dance. 
The  cause  of  every  gallant's  sigh. 
And  leading  star  of  every  eye. 
And  theme  of  every  minstrel's  art, 
^v^     The  Lady  of  the  Bleedmg  Heart  I "— ■ 

1  [MS. — *'  No  blither  dew-drop  cheers  the  rose."] 

•  [This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS.] 

•  The  well-known  cognizance  of  the  Douglas  family. 


CANTO  11.]  THE    ISLAND.  7^ 

XI. 

"  Fair  dreams  are  these,"  the  maiden  cried, 
(Light  was  her  accent,  yet  she  sigh'd ;) 
"  Yet  is  this  mossy  rock  to  me 
"Worth  splendid  chair  and  canopy ;  ^ 
Nor  would  my  footsteps  spring  more  gay 
In  courtly  dance  than  blythe  sti-athspey, 
Nor  half  so  pleased  mine  ear  incline 
To  royal  minstrel's  lay  as  thine. 
And  then  for  suitors  proud  and  high. 
To  bend  before  my  conquering  eye, — 
Thou,  flattering  bard  !  thyself  ^silt  say, 
tXThat  grim  Sir  Roderick  owns  its  sway. 
The  Saxon  scourge,  Clan-Alpine's  pride, 
The  teri'or  of  Loch  Lomond's  side, 
Would,  at  my  suit,  thou  know'st  delay 
A  Lennox  foray — for  a  day." 

XII. 

The  ancient  bard  her  glee  repress'd  • 
*•'  111  hast  thou  chosen  theme  for  jest ! 
For  who,  through  all  this  western  wild, 
Named  Black  Sir  Roderick  e'er,  and  smiled ! 


^ 


In  Holy-Rood  a  knight  he  slew  ;  *         ^^ 
I  saw,  when  back  the  dirk  he  drew, 
Courtiers  give  place  before  the  stride 


1  [MS. — "  This  mossy  rock,  my  friend,  to  mo 

Is  worth  gay  chair  and  canopy."] 
*  [See  Appendix,  Note  C] 


76  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.         [CA3rr»>  n. 

Of  the  undaunted  homicide  ;  *  ' 

And  since,  though  outlaw'd,  hath  his  hand, 
Full  sternly  kept  his  mountain  land. 
Who  else  dare  give — ah  !  woe  the  day,* 
That  I  such  hated  truth  should  say — 
The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 
Disown'd  by  every  noble  peer,' 
Even  the  rude  refuge  we  have  here  ? 


1  [MS. — "  Courtiers  give  place  with  heartless  stride 
Of  the  retiring  homicide."] 

«  [MS. — ^"  Who  else  dared  own  the  kindred  claim 
That  bound  him  to  thy  inother's  name? 
Who  else  dared  give,"  &c.] 

•  The  exiled  state  of  this  powerful  race  is  not  exaggerated 
in  this  and  subsequent  passages.  The  hatred  of  James 
against  the  race  of  Douglas  was  so  inveterate,  that  numerous 
as  their  allies  were,  and  disregarded  as  the  regal  authority 
had  usually'  been  in  similar  cases,  their  nearest  friends,  even 
in  the  most  remote  parts  of  Scotland,  durst  not  entertain 
them,  unless  under  the  strictest  and  closest  disguise.  Jamef 
Ikuiglas,  son  of  the  banished  Earl  of  Angus,  afterwards  well 
known  by  the  title  of  Earl  ofJJorton,  lurked,  during  the  exile 
of  his  family,  in  the  north  of  Scotland,  under  the  assumed 
name  of  James  Innes,  otherwise  James  the  Grieve  (t  c.  Eeve 
or  Bailiflf)'  "  And  as  he  bore  the  name,"  says  Godscrofi,  "  so 
did  he  also  execute  the  office  of  a  grieve  or  overseer  of  the 
lands  and  rents,  the  corn  and  cattle  of  him  with  whum  he 
lived."  From  the  habits  of  frugality  and  observation  which 
he  acquired  in  his  humble  situation,  the  historian  traces  that 
intimate  acquaintance  with  popular  character,  which  enabled 
him  to  rise  so  high  m  the  state,  and  that  honourable  economy 
by  which  he  repaired  and  established  the  shattered  estates  of 
Angus  and  Morton. — History  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  Edin- 
Hurgh,  1743,  vol.  ii.  p.  160. 


CAXTO  U.]  THE    ISLAND.  77 

^  Alas,  this  wild  marauding  Cliief 
Alone  might  hazard  our  relief, 
And  now  thy  maiden  charms  expand. 
Looks  for  liis  guerdon  in  thy  hand ; 
Full  soon  may  dispensation  sought, 
To  back  his  suit  from  Rome  be  brought. 
Then,  though  an  exile  on  the  hill, 
Thy  father,  as  the  Douglas,  still 
Be  held  in  reverence  and  fear ; 
And  though  to  Roderick  thou'rt  so  dear, 
That  thou  might'st  guide  with  silken  thi-ead, 
Slave  of  thy  \vill,  this  chieftain  dread ; 
Yet,  O  loved  maid,  thy  mirth  refrain ! 
Thy  hand  is  on  a  lion's  mane." — 


xm. 

"  "Minstrel,"  the  maid  replied,  and  high 
Her  father's  soul  glanced  from  her  eye, 
"  My  debts  to  Roderick's  house  I  know : 
All  that  a  mother  could  bestow. 
To  Lady  ^largai-et's  care  I  owe. 
Since  first  an  orphan  in  the  wild 
She  sorroVd  o'er  her  sister's  child ; 
To  her  brave  chieftain  son,  from  ire 
Of  Scotland's  king  who  shrouds  my  sire, 
A  deeper,  holier  debt  is  owed ; 
And,  could  I  pay  it  with  my  blood, 
Allan  !  Sir  Roderick  should  command 
My  blood,  my  life, — but  not  my  hand- 
Rather  will  Ellen  Douglas  dwell 


/ 


78  THE    LADf    OF   THE    LAKE.       [OAaTO  n. 

A  votaress  iii  Maronnan's  cell ;  ^  T »   '^ 

Rather  through  realms  beyond  the  sea, 
Seeking  the  world's  cold  chai'ity, 
Where  ne'er  was  spoke  a  Scottish  word, 
And  ne'er  the  name  of  Douglas  heard. 
An  outcast  pilgrim  will  she  rove, 
Than  wed  the  man  she  cannot  love.* 

XIV. 

»*  Thou  shakest,  good  friend,  thy  tresses  gray- 
That  pleading  look,  what  can  it  say 
But  what  I  own  ? — I  grant  him  brave, 
But  wild  as  Brackhnn's^ thundering  wave ; ' 
And  generous — save  vindictive  mood. 
Or  jealous  transport,  chafe  his  blood : 

1  The  parish  of  Kilmarnock,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of 
Lioch-Lomond,  derives  its  name  from  a  cell  or  chapel,  dedi- 
cated to  Saint  Marouoch,  or  Marnoch,  or  Maronnan,  about 
whose  sanctity  very  little  is  noAV  remembered.  There  is  a 
fountam  devoted  to  him  in  the  same  parish ;  but  its  virtues, 
like  the  merits  of  its  patron,  have  fallen  into  oblivion. 

2  ["  Ellen  is  most  exquisitely  drawn,  and  could  not  have 
been  improved  by  contrast.  She  is  beautiful,  frank,  affec- 
tionate, rational,  and  playful,  combining  the  innocence  of  a 
child  with  the  elevated  sentiments  and  courage  of  a  heroine." 
Quarterly  Review.'] 

8  This  is  a  beautiful  cascade  made  by  a  mountain  stream 
called  the  Keltie,  at  a  place  called  the  Bridge  of  BracklinUj 
about  a  mile  from  the  village  of  Callendar  in  Menteith. 
Above  a  chasm,  where  the  brook  precipitates  itself  from  a 
height  of  at  least  fifty  feet,  there  is  thrown,  for  tlie  con- 
venience of  the  neighbourhood,  a  rustic  foot-bridge,  of  about 
three  feet  in  breadth,  and  without  ledges,  which  is  scarcely 
lo  be  crossed  by  a  stranger  without  awe  and  apprehension. 


CAXTO  U.]  THE  ISLAND.  79 

I  grant  him  true  to  friendly  band, 
As  his  claymore  is  to  his  hand ; 
But  0 !  that  very  blade  of  steel 
More  mercy  for  a  foe  would  feel : 
T  gi'ant  him  liberal,  to  fling 
Among  his  clan  the  wealth  they  bring, 
When  back  by  lake  and  glen  they  wind, 
Andrin  the  Lowland  leave  behind, 
Where  once  some  pleasant  hamlet  stood, 
A  mass  of  ashes  slaked  with  blood. 

f  The  hand  that  for  my  father  fought, 

Vl  honour,  as  his  daughter  ought ; 
But  can  I  clasp  it  reeking  red, 
From  peasants  slaughter'd  in  their  shed  ? 
No  !  wildly  while  his  virtues  gleam. 
They  make  his  passions  darker  seem. 
And  flash  along  his  spirit  high, 
Like  lightning  o'er  the  midnight  sky. 
While  yet  a  child, — and  children  know. 
Instinctive  taught,  the  friend  and  foe, — 
I  shudder'd  at  his  brow  of  gloom, 
His  shadowy  plaid,  and  sable  plume  I 
A  maiden  gi'own,  I  ill  could  bear 
His  haughty  mien  and  lordly  air ; 
But,  if  thou  join'st  a  suitor's  claim, 
in  serious  mood,  to  Roderick's  name, 
I  thrill  with  anguish  I  or,  if  e'er 
A  Douglas  knew  the  word,  with  fear. 
To  change  such  odious  theme  were  best, — 
Tiat  th''k'n  thou  of  our  stranse^  ffrect?" — 


80  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [  CAM'  .  U 

XV. 

"  What  think  I  of  him  ? — woe  the  while 

That  brought  such  wanderer  to  our  isle  ! 

Thy  father's  battle-brand,  of  yore 

For  Tine-man  forged  by  fairy  lore,^ 

What  time  he  leagued,  no  longer  foes, 

His  Border  spears  with  Hotspur's  bows,  •  "^ 

Did,  self-unscabbarded,  foreshow  \  <?^^'i''^^^^^^^^\o,i^^-^ 

The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe.^  ^     (i}>sT>^  "^^^^ 


footstep 
If  courtly  spy  hath  harbour'd  here, 
What  may  we  for  the  Douglas  fear  ? 
What  for  this  island,  deem'd  of  old 
Clan- Alpine's  last  and  surest  hold  ? 
If  neither  spy  nor  foe,  I  pray 
What  yet  may  jealous  Roderick  say  ? 
— Nay,  wave  not  thy  disdainful  head, 

1  Archibald,  the  third  Earl  of  Douglas,  was  so  unfortunate 
in  fill  his  enterprises,  that  he  acquired  the  epithet  of  Tine- 
man,  because  he  fined,  or  lost,  his  followers  in  every  battle 
\y/  which  he  fought.     He  was  vanquished,  as  every  reader  must 

remember,  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Homildon-Hill,  near  Wooler, 
where  he  himself  lost  an  eye,  and  was  made  prisoner  by  Hot- 
spur. He  was  no  less  unfortunate  when  allied  with  Terc}', 
being  wounded  and  taken  at  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury.  He 
was  so  unsuccessful  in  an  attempt  to  besiege  Roxburgh  Cas- 
tle, that  it  was  called  the  Foul  Raid,  or  disgraceful  expedi- 
tion. His  ill  fortune  left  him  indeed  at  the  battle  of  Beaug^, 
in  France;  but  it  was  only  to  return  with  double  emphasis  at 
the  subsequent  action  of  Vernoil,  the  last  and  most  unlucky 
of  his  encounters,  in  which  he  fell,  with  the  flower  of  the 
Scottish  chivalry,  then  serving  as  auxiliaries  iu  France,  and 
»bout  two  thousand  common  soldiers,  A.  D.  1424. 
*  |_See  Appendix  Nofe  D.] 


CABTOn.]  THE    ISLA.VD.  81 

Bethink  thee  of  the  discord  dread 

That  kindled,  when  at  Beltane  game 

Thou  led'st  the  dance  with  Malcolm  Graeme , 

Still,  though  thy  sire  the  peace  renew'd. 

Smoulders  in  Roderick's  breast  the  feud ; 

Beware ! — But  hark,  what  sounds  are  these  ?  ^ 

My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze, 

No  weeping  birch,  nor  aspens  wake, 

Nor  breath  is  dimpling  in  the  lake. 

Still  is  the  canna's^  hoary  beard. 

Yet,  by  my  minstrel  faith,  I  heard — 

And  hark  again  !  some  pipe  of  war 

Sends  the  bold  pibroch  from  afar." 

XVI. 

Far  up  the  lengthen'd  lake  were  spied 
Four  darkening  specks  upon  the  tide, 
That,  slow  enlarging  on  the  view, 
Four  mann'd  and  masted  barges  grew. 
And,  bearing  downwards  from  Glengyle, 
Steer'd  full  upon  the  lonely  isle  ; 
The  point  of  Brianchoil  they  pass'd. 
And,  to  the  windward  as  they  cast. 
Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine 
The  bold  Sir  Roderick's  banner'd  Pine. 

1  ["The  moving  picture — tlie  efTect  of  the  sounds — and  the 
wild  character  and  strong  peculiar  nationality  of  the  whole 
procession,  are  given  with  inimitable  spirit  and  power  of  ez 
pression." —Jeffrey.] 

2  Cotton-grass. 

6 


82  THE    LADY    OF    THL    LAKE.       [CANTl>  U 

Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear, 

Spear,  pikes,  and  axes  flash  in  air. 

Now  might  you  see  the  tartans  brave, 

And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave  : 

Now  see  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise, 

As  liis  tough  oar  the  rower  plies ; 

See,  flashing  at  each  sturdy  stroke, 

The  wave  ascending  into  smoke  ; 

See  the  proud  pipers  on  the  bow. 

And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 

From  their  loud  chanters  ^  down,  and  sweep 

The  furrow'd  bosom  of  the  deep. 

As,  rushing  through  the  lake  amain. 

They  phed  the  ancient  Highland  strain. 

XVII. 

Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud 

And  louder  rung  the  pibroch  proud. 

At  first  the  sound,  by  distance  tame, 

Mellow'd  along  the  waters  came. 

And,  lingering  long  by  cape  and  bay, 

Wail'd  every  harsher  note  away  ; 

Then  bursting  bolder  on  the  ear. 

The  clan's  shrill  Gathering  they  could  hear ; 

Those  thrilhng  sounds,  that  call  the  might 

Of  old  Clan-Alpine  to  the  fight.=* 

1  Tlu  pipe  of  the  bagpipe. 

2  The  conno'ssenrs  in  pipe  music  affect  to  discover  in  a 
wel'-composed  p|broch,  the  imitative  sounds  of  mnrch,  con 
flict^  ^ght,  pursuit,  and  all  the  "  cun-ent  of  a  heady  fight." 


BAirroU.]  THE    ISLAND.  83 

Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when 
The  mustering  hundreds  shake  the  glen, 
And  hurrying  at  the  signal  dread. 
The  batter'd  earth  returns  their  tread ; 
Then  prelude  light,  of  livelier  tone, 
Express'd  their  merry  marching  on, 
Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose. 
With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows : 
And  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward. 
As  broadsword  upon  target  jarr'd  ; 
And  groaning  pause,  ere  yet  again. 
Condensed,  the  battle  yell'd  amain  ; 
The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout, 
Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout, 
And  bursts  of  triumph,  to  declare 
Clan- Alpine's  conquest — all  were  there. 


To  this  opinion  Dr.  Beattie  has  given  his  PufTrage,  in  the  fol- 
lowing elegant  passage:  "  A  pibroch  is  a  species  of  tune,  pe- 
cuhar,  I  think,  to  tlie  Highlands  an'l  Western  Isles  of  Scotland. 
It  is  performed  on  a  bagpipe,  and  differs  totally  from  all  other 
music.  Its  rhythm  is  so  irregular,  and  its  notes,  especially  in 
the  quick  movement,  so  mixed  and  huddled  together,  that  a 
stranger  finds  it  impossible  to  reconcile  his  ear  to  it,  so  as  to 
perceive  its  modulation.  Some  of  these  pibrochs,  being  in- 
tended to  represent  a  battle,  begin  with  a  grave  motion  re- 
sembling a  march;  then  gradually  quicken  into  the  onset; 
run  off  wirh  noisy  confusion,  and  turbulent  rapidity,  to  imitate 
the  -onflict  and  pursuit;  then  swell  into  a  few  flourishes  of 
triuT.iphant  joy,  and  perhaps  close  with  the  wild  and  slow 
wailings  A  a  funeral  procession." — Essay  on  Laughter  and 
uudicrous  ODrnposUion,  chap.  iil.  Note. 


84  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CA2iTO  U 

Nor  ended  thus  the  strain ;  but  slow- 
Sunk  in  a  moan  prolong'd  and  low, 
And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swell, 
For  wild  lament  o'er  those  that  fell. 

XVIII. 

The  war-pipes  ceased  ;  but  lake  and  hiU 
Were  busy  with  their  echoes  still ; 
And,  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 
Bade  their  hoarse  chorus  wake  again, 
While  loud  a  hundred  clansmen  raise 
Their  voices  in  their  Chieftain's  praise. 
Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar, 
With  measured  sweep  the  burden  bore. 
In  such  wild  cadence,  as  the  breeze 
Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees. 
The  chorus  first  could  Allan  know, 
"  Roderick  Yich  Alpine,  ho !  ii'o ! " 
And  near,  and  nearer  as  they  row'd. 
Distinct  the  martial  ditty  flow'd. 

XIX. 

BOAT  SONG. 

Hail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances  ! 

Honour'd  and  bless'd  be  the  ever-green  Pine  I 
Long  may  the  tree,  in  his  banner  that  glances, 
Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  Kne ! 
Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 
Earth  lend  it  sap  anew. 


CANTO  n.J  THE   ISLAND.  85 

Gayly  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow, 

While  every  Highland  glen 

Send  our  shout  back  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe ! "  * 


1  Besides  his  ordinary  name  and  surname,  which  were 
chiefly  used  in  the  intercourse  with  the  Lowlands,  every 
High^.and  chief  had  an  epithet  expressive  cf  his  patriarchal 
dignity  as  head  of  the  clan,  and  which  was  common  to  all 
his  predecessors  and  successors,  as  Pharaoh  to  the  kings  of 
EgA'pt,  or  Arsaces  to  those  of  Parthia.  This  name  was 
usually  a  patronymic,  expressive  of  his  descent  from  the 
founder  of  the  family.  Thus  the  Duke  of  Argyle  is  called 
Mac-Callura  More,  or  the  son  of  Culin  the  Great.  Sometimes, 
however,  it  is  derived  from  armorial  distinctions,  or  the 
memory  of  some  great  feat;  thus  Lord  Seaforth,  as  chief  of 
the  Mackenzies,  or  Clun-Kennet,  bears  the  epithet  of  Caber- 
fae,  or  BucTc's  Head,  as  representative  of  Colin  Fitzgerald, 
founder  of  the  family,  who  saved  the  Scottish  king  when 
endangered  by  a  stag.  But  besides  this  title,  which  belonged 
to  his  office  and  dignity,  the  chieftain  had  usually  another 
peculiar  to  himself,  which  distinguished  him  from  the  chief- 
tains of  the  same  race.  This  was  sometimes  derived  from 
complexion,  as  dhu  or  roy ;  sometimes  from  size,  as  begot 
more;  at  other  times,  from  some  peculiar  exploit,  or  from 
Bome  peculiarity  of  habit  or  appearance.  The  line  of  the 
text  therefore  signifies, 

Black  Roderick,  the  descendant  of  Alpine. 

The  song  itself  is  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  jorrams, 
n  boat  songs  of  the  Highlanders,  which  were  usually  com- 
posed in  honour  of  a  favourite  chief.  They  are  so  adapted 
as  to  keep  time  with  the  sweep  of  the  oars,  and  it  is  easy  to 
distinguish  between  those  intended  to  be  sur.g  to  the  oars  of 
a  galley,  where  the  stroke  is  lengthened  and  doubled,  as  it 
were,  and  those  which  were  timed  to  the  rowers  of  an  ordi- 
nary boat 


86  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CANTO  rr 

Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  at  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade  ; 
When  the  whirlwind  has  stripp'd  every  leaf  on  the 
mountain, 
The  more  shall  Clan- Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 
Moor'd  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 
Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow ; 
Menteith  and  Breadalbane,  then. 
Echo  his  praise  again, 
*'  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe ! " 

XX. 

Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrill'd  in  Glen  Fruin, 

And  Bannachar's  groans  to  our  slogan  replied ; 
Glen  Luss  and  Ross-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin, 
And  the  best  of  Loch-Lomond  he  dead  on  her 
side.^ 
Widow  and  Saxon  maid 
Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 
Think  of  Clan- Alpine  with  fear  and  with  woe ; 
Lennox  and  Leven-glen 
Shake  when  they  hear  again, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe ! " 

Row,  vassals,  row  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands 
Stretch  to  your  oars,  for  the  ever-green  Pine ! 
0  !  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands, 
Wsre  wreathed  in  a  garland  around  him  to 
twine ! 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  E.] 


^^J9^   fiAjJjviik  9^  i»<^ 


CAS-n>  n.]  THE    ISLAND.  87 

O  that  some  seedling  gem, 

Worthy  such  noble  stem, 
Honour'd  and  bless'd  m  their  shadow  might 
grow! 

Loud  should  Clan-Alpine  then 

Ring  from  his  deepmost  glen, 
•*  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe ! "  * 

XXI. 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band, 
Had  Lady  Margaret  sought  the  strand. 
Loose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew. 
And  high  their  sno^\y  arms  they  threw. 
As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim, 
And  chorus  wild,  the  Chieftain's  name ;  * 
While,  prompt  to  please,  with  mother's  art, 
The  darling  passion  of  his  heart. 
The  Dame  called  Ellen  to  the  strand 
v^  To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land  : 
"  Come,  loiterer,  come  !  a  Douglas  thou. 
And  shun  to  wreath  a  victor's  brow  ?  " — 
Reluctantly  and  slow,  the  maid 
The  unwelcome  summoning  obey'd, 

1  ["  However  we  may  dislike  the  geographical  song  and 
chorus,  half  English  and  half  Erse,  which  is  sung  in  praise 
of  the  warrior,  we  must  allow  that,  in  other  respect?,  the  hero 
of  a  poem  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  introduced  with  finer 
effect,  or  in  a  manner  better  calculated  to  excite  the  expecta- 
tions of  the  reader,  than  en  the  present  occasion." — Qritical 
Beriew.] 

a  [MS.—"  The  chorus  to  the  chieftain's  /aj?j€."] 


88  THE   LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.        [CASTO  U 

And,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung, 
In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung : — 
"  List,  Allan-bane !  from  mainland  cast, 
I  hear  my  father's  signal  blast ; 
Be  ours,"  she  cried,  "  the  skiff  to  guide 
And  waft  him  from  the  mountain-side." 
Then,  like  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright 
She  darted  to  her  shallop  light, 
And,  eagerly  while  Eoderick  scann'd. 
For  her  dear  form,  his  mother's  band,^^ 
The  islet  far  behind  her  lay. 
And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

XXIL 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given. 
With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven : 
And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 
From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 
A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek, 
It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek, 
'Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 
Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head ! 
And  as  the  Douglas  to  his  breast 
His  darling  Ellen  closely  press'd. 
Such  holy  drops  her  tresses  steep'd. 
Though  'twas  an  hero's  eye  that  weep'd. 
Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue  * 


|MS  — "  Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue 
Her  filial  greetings  eager  hung, 
Mark'  d  not  that  awe  (affection's  proof) 
Still  h3ld  yon  gentle  youth  aloof; 


CASTOn.]  THE   ISLAJTD.  89 

Her  filial  welcomes  crowded  hung, 
Mark'd  she,  that  fear  (affection*s  proof) 
Still  held  a  graceful  youth  aloof; 
No  I  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 
Although  the  youth  was  IVIalcolm  GraBme. 

xxni. 
Allan,  with  wistful  look  the  while, 
ISIark'd  Roderick  landing  on  the  isle  ; 
His  master  piteously  he  eyed, 
Then  gazed  upon  the  Chieftain's  pride. 
Then  dash'd,  with  hasty  hand,  away 
From  his  dimm'd  eye  the  gathering  spray ; 
And  Douglas,  as  his  hand  he  laid 
On  Malcolm's  shoulder,  kindly  said, 
**  Canst  thou,  young  fi-iend,  no  meaning  spy 
In  my  poor  follower's  glistening  eye  ? 
I'll  tell  thee : — he  recalls  the  day, 
When  m  my  praise  he  led  the  lay 
O'er  the  arch'd  gate  of  Bothwell  proud. 
While  many  a  minstrel  answer'd  loud. 
When  Perc}''s  Xorman  pennon  won 
In  bloody  field,  before  me  shone. 
And  twice  ten  knights,  the  least  a  name 
As  mighty  as  yon  Chief  may  claim. 
Gracing  my  pomp,  behind  me  came. 

No!  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 
Although  the  youth  was  ilalcolm  Graeme. 
Then  with  flushed  cheek  and  downcast  eye^ 
Their  greeting  teas  con/used  and  thy.''} 


90  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       [cANTO  D 

Yet  trust  me,  Malcolm,  not  so  proud 
"Was  I  of  all  that  marshall'd  crowd, 
•  'hough  the  waned  crescent  own'd  m j  might, 
Vnd  in  my  train  troop'd  lord  and  knight, 
Though  Blantyre  hymn'd  her  holiest  lays, 
Ind  Bothwell's  bards  flung  back  my  praise, 
Vs  when  this  old  man's  silent  tear, 
A.nd  this  poor  maid's  affection  dear, 
A  welcome  give  more  kind  and  true. 
Than  aught  my  better  fortunes  knew. 
Forgive,  my  friend,  a  father's  boast, 
O I  it  out-beggars  all  I  lost ! " 

XXIV. 

Delightful  praise ! — Like  summer  rose, 
That  brighter  in  the  dew-drop  glows. 
The  bashful  maiden's  cheek  appear'd, 
For  Douglas  spoke,  and  Malcolm  heard. 
The  flush  of  shamefaced  joy  to  hide, 
The  hounds,  the  hawk,  her  cares  divide ; 
The  loved  caresses  of  the  maid 
The  dogs  with  crouch  and  whimper  paid ;  * 
And,  at  her  whistle,  on  her  hand 
The  falcon  took  his  favourite  stand. 
Closed  his  dark  wing,  relax'd  his  eye. 
Nor,  though  unhooded,  sought  to  fly. 
And,  trust,  while  in  such  guise  she  stood, 
liike  fabled  Goddess  of  the  Wood,^ 

1  [MS. — "  The  dogs  with  whimpering  notes  rqp(ndy\ 
a  fMS.— "  Like  fabled  huntress  of  the  wood,"] 


C^NTO  n.;  THE    ISLAND. 


91 


That  if  a  father's  partial  thought 
aens^eigh'd  her  worth  and  beauty  aught, 
Well  mrght  the  lover's  judgment  faU 
To  balance  with  a  juster  scale  ; 
For  with  each  secret  glance  he  stole. 
The  fond  enthusiast  sent  his  soul. 

XXV. 

Of  stature  tall,  and  slender  frame, 

But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcohn  Graeme, 

The  belted  plaid  and  tartan  hose 

Did  ne'er  more  graceful  limbs  disclose  ; 

His  flaxen  hair  of  sunny  hue, 

Curl'd  closely  round  his  bonnet  blue. 

Train'd  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye 

The  ptarmigan  m  snow  could  spy : 

Each  pass,  by  mountain,  lake,  and  heath, 

He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menteith ; 

Vain  was  the  bound  of  dark-brown  doe, 

When  Malcolm  bent  his  sounding  bow, 

And  scarce  that  doe,  though  vnngd  with  fear, 

Outstripp'd  in  speed  the  mountaineer : 

Right  up  Ben-Lomond  c^uld  he  press. 

And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 

His  form  accorded  with  a  mind 

Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind  ; 

A  bhther  heart,  till  Ellen  came, 

Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame  ; 

It  danced  as  lightsome  in  his  breast, 

As  play'd  the  feather  on  his  crest. 


92  THE    LADY    OF   THE   LAKE.       [CAKTO  n 

Yet  friends,  who  nearest  knew  the  youth, 
His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth. 
And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold 
When  kindled  by  the  tales  of  old, 
8aid,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown, 
Not  long  should  Roderick  Dhu's  renown 
Be  foremost  voiced  by  mountain  fame. 
But  quail  to  that  of  Malcolm  Grseme. 

XXVI. 

Now  back  they  wend  their  watery  way, 
And,  "  O  my  sire ! "  did  Ellen  say, 
"  Why  urge  thy  chase  so  far  astray  ? 
And  why  so  late  return'd  ?     And  why  '* — 
The  rest  was  in  her  speaking  eye. 
"  My  child,  the  chase  I  follow  far, 
'Tis  mimicry  of  noble  war  ; 
And  with  that  gallant  pastime  reft 
Were  all  of  Douglas  I  have  left. 
I  met  young  Malcolm  as  I  stray'd, 
Far  eastward,  in  Glenfinlas'  shade. 
Nor  stray'd  I  safe  ;  for,  all  around. 
Hunters  and  horsemen  scour'd  the  ground  ; 
This  youth,  though  still  a  royal  ward, 
Risk'd  hfe  and  land  to  be  my  guard. 
And  through  the  passes  of  the  wood 
Guided  my  steps,  not  unpursued  ; 
And  Roderick  shall  his  welcome  make, 
Despite  old  spleen,  for  Douglas'  sake. 


OAXTO  n-]  THE    ISLAND.  93 

Then  must  he  seek  Strath-Endrick  glen, 
Nor  peril  aught  for  me  agen." 

XXVII. 

Sir  Roderick,  who  to  meet  them  came, 
Redden'd  at  sight  of  Malcolm  Graeme, 
Yet,  not  in  action,  word,  or  eye, 
Fail'd  aught  in  hospitality. 
In  talk  and  sport  they  whiled  away 
The  morning  of  that  summer  day ; 
But  at  high  noon  a  courier  light 
Held  secret  parley  with  the  knight. 
Whose  moody  aspect  soon  declared, 
That  evil  were  the  news  he  heard. 
Deep  thought  seem'd  toihng  in  his  head ; 
Yet  was  the  evening  banquet  made, 
Ere  he  assembled  round  the  flame, 
<]      \^His  mother,  Douglas,  and  the  Graeme, 
And  Ellen,  too ;  then  cast  around 
His  eyes,  then  fixed  them  on  the  ground. 
As  studying  phrase  that  might  avail 
Best  to  convey  unpleasant  tale. 
Long  with  his  dagger's  hilt  he  play'd, 
Then  raised  his  haughty  brow,  and  said  : 

XXVIII. 

"  Short  be  my  speech  ; — nor  time  affords, 
Nor  my  plain  temper,  glozing  words. 
Kinsman  and  father, — if  such  name 
Douglas  vouchsafe  to  Roderick's  claim  ; 


v/ 


94  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [0A»1X>  U 

Mine  honoured  mother ; — Ellen — why, 
My  cousin,  turn  away  thine  eye  ? — 
And  Grasme ;  in  whom  I  hope  to  know 
Full  soon  a  noble  friend  or  foe, 
Wlien  age  shall  give  thee  thy  command, 
And  leading  in  thy  native  land, — 
List  all ! — The  King's  vindictive  pride 
Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side.* 


1  In  1529,  James  V.  made  a  convention  at  Edinburgh  foi 
the  purpose  of  considering  the  best  mode  of  quelling  the  Bor- 
der robbers,  who,  during  the  license  of  his  minority,  and  the 
troubles  which  folloAved,  had  committed  many  exorbitances. 
Accordingly,  he  assembled  a  flying  army  of  ten  thousand 
men,  consisting  of  his  principal  nobility  and  their  followers, 
who  were  directed  to  bring  their  hawks  and  dogs  with  them, 
that  the  monarch  might  refresh  himself  with  sport  during  the 
intervals  of  military  execution.  With  this  array  he  swept 
through  Ettrick  Forest,  where  he  hanged  over  the  gate  of  his 
own  castle  Piers  Cockburn  of  Henderland,  who  had  prepared, 
according  to  tradition,  a  feast  for  his  i-eception.  He  caused 
Adam  Scott  of  Tushielaw,  also  to  be  executed,  who  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  title  of  King  of  the  Border.  But  the  most 
noted  victim  of  justice,  during  that  expedition.  Avas  John 
Armstrong  of  Gilnockie,'-^  famous  in  Scottish  song,  who,  con- 
fiding in  his  own  supposed  innocence,  met  the  king  with  a 
retinue  of  thirty-six  persons,  all  of  whom  were  hanged  at 
Carlenrig,  near  the  source  of  the  Teviot.  The  effect  of  this 
severity  was  such,  that,  as  the  vulgar  expressed  it,  "tho 
rush-bush  kept  the  cow,"  and,  "  thereafter  was  great  peace 
and  rest  a  long  time,  wherethrough  the  King  had  great  profit; 
for  he  had  ten  thousand  sheep  going  in  the  Kttrick  Forest  in 
keeping  by  Andrew  Bell,  who  made  the  King  as  good  count  of 
them  as  they  had  gone  in  the  bounds  of  Fife." — Pitscottik's 
History,  p.  153. 

2  rSee  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i.  p.  392.] 


CA3ITon.I  THE    ISLAND.  95 

Where  chiefs,  with  hound  and  hawk  who  came 
Td  share  their  monarch's  sylvan  game, 
Themselves  in  bloody  toils  were  snared ; 
And  when  the  banquet  they  prepared, 
And  wide  their  loyal  portals  flung, 
O'er  their  own  gateway  struggling  hung. 
Loud  cries  their  blood  from  Meggat's  mead, 
From  Yarrow  braes,  and  banks  of  Tweed, 
Where  the  lone  streams  of  Ettrick  glide. 
And  from  the  silver  Teviot's  side  ; 
The  dales,  where  martial  clans  did  ride,^ 
Are  now  one  sheepwalk,  waste  and  wide. 
This  tyrant  of  the  Scottish  throne, 
So  faithless,  and  so  ruthless  known. 
Now  hither  comes ;  his  end  the  same. 
The  same  pretext  of  sylvan  game. 
What  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 
By  fate  of  Border  chivalry.*-^ 

1  [MS. — "  The  dales  where  clans  were  worn  to  bk'.e."] 

2  James  Avas  in  fact  equally  attentive  to  restrain  rapine  and 
feudal  oppression  in  every  part  of  his  dominions.  "  The  King 
past  to  the  Isles,  and  there  held  justice  courts,  and  punished 
both  thief  and  traitor  according  to  their  demerit.  And  also  ^ 
he  caused  great  men  to  show  their  holdings,  wherethrough 
he  found  many  of  the  said  lands  in  non-entiy ;  the  which  he 
confiscate  and  brought  home  to  his  own  use,  and  afterward 
annexed  them  to  the  crown,  as  ye  shall  hear.  Syne  brought 
many  of  the  great  men  of  the  Isles  captive  with  him,  such  as 
Mudyart,  M'Connel,  M'Leod  of  the  Lewes,  M'Xeil,  M'Lane, 
M'Intosh,  John  Mudyart,  M'Kay,  M'Kenzie,  with  many  other 
tliat  I  cannot  rehearse  at  this  time.  Some  of  them  he  put  ia 
ward  and  some  in  court,  and  some  he  took  pledges  for  good 


i/ 


96  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       ICANTO  U. 

Yet  more  ;  amid  Glenfinlas'  green, 
Douglas,  thy  stately  form  was  seen. 
This  by  espial  sure  I  know ; 
Your  counsel  in  the  streight  I  show," 

XXIX. 

Ellen  and  Margaret  fearfully 

Sought  comfort  in  each  other's  eye, 

Then  turn'd  their  ghastly  look,  each  one, 

This  to  her  sire,  that  to  her  son. 

The  hasty  colour  went  and  came 

In  the  bold  cheek  of  Malcohn  Graeme ; 

But  from  his  glance  it  well  appear'd, 

*Twas  but  for  Ellen  that  he  fear'd ; 

While,  sorrowful,  but  undismay'd, 

The  Douglas  thus  his  counsel  said : 

"  Brave  Roderick,  though  the  tempest  roar, 

It  may  but  thunder  and  pass  o'er ; 

Nor  will  I  here  remain  an  hour, 

To  draw  the  lightning  on  thy  bower ; 

For  well  thou  know'st,  at  this  gray  head 

The  royal  bolt  were  fiercest  sped. 

For  thee,  who,  at  thy  King's  command, 

Canst  aid  him  with  a  gallant  band, 

Submission,  homage,  humbled  pride, 

rule  in  time  coming.  So  he  brought  the  isles,  both  north  and 
south,  in  good  rule  and  peace;  wherefore  he  had  great  profit, 
service,  and  obedience  of  people  a  long  time  thereafter;  and 
as  long  as  he  had  the  heads  of  the  country  in  subjection,  thev 
lived  in  great  peace  and  rest,  and  there  was  great  riches  anu 
Dolicy  by  the  king's  justice." — Pitscottib,  p.  152- 


BAKTOn.]  TDK    ISLAND.  97 

Shall  turn  the  Monai'ch*s  wrath  aside. 
Poor  remnants  of  the  Bleeding  Heart, 
Ellen  and  I  will  seek,  apart, 
The  refuge  of  some  forest  cell. 
There,  like  the  hunted  quarr}%  dwell, 
Till  on  the  mountain  and  the  moor, 
The  stem  pursuit  be  pass*d  and  o'er." — 

XXX. 

"No,  by  mine  honour,**  Roderick  said, 
"  So  help  me  •Heaven,  and  my  good  blade ! 
No,  never  I    Blasted  be  yon  Pine, 
My  fathers'  ancient  crest  and  mine. 
If  from  its  shade  in  danger  part 
The  lineage  of  the  Bleeding  Heart ! 
Hear  my  blunt  speech  ;  grant  me  this  maid 
To  wife,  thy  counsel  to  mine  aid  ; 
To  Douglas,  leagued  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
Will  friends  and  allies  flock  enow  ; 
Like  cause  of  doubt,  distrust,  and  grief, 
Will  bind  to  us  each  Western  Chief. 
When  the  loud  pipes  ray  bridal  tell. 
The  Links  of  Forth  shall  hear  the  knell. 
The  guards  shall  start  in  Stirhng*s  porch ; 
And,  when  I  light  the  nuptial  torch, 
A  thousand  villages  in  flames, 
Shall  scare  the  slumbers  of  King  James ! 
—Nay,  Ellen,  blench  not  thus  away. 
And,  mother,  cease  these  signs,  I  pray ; 
I  meant  not  all  my  heart  might  say. — 
7 


98  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       j^CANTO  U 

Small  need  of  inroad,  or  of  figlit, 
Wlien  the  sage  Douglas  may  unite 
Each  mountain  clan  in  friendly  band, 
To  guard  the  passes  of  their  land, 
Till  the  foil'd  king,  from  pathless  glen,^ 
Shall  bootless  turn  him  home  agen  " 

XXXI. 

There  are  who  have,  at  midnight  hour, 

In  slumber  scaled  a  dizzy  tower. 

And  on  the  verge  that  beetled  o'er 

The  ocean-tide's  incessant  roar, 

Dream'd  calmly  out  their  dangerous  dream,' 

Till  waken'd  by  the  morning  beam  ; 

When,  dazzled  by  the  eastern  glow, 

Such  startler  cast  his  glance  below. 

And  saw  unmeasured  depth  aroujid, 

And  heard  unintermitted  sound, 

And  thought  the  battled  fence  so  frail. 

It  waved  like  cobweb  in  the  gale  ; — 

Amid  his  senses'  giddy  wheel. 

Did  he  not  desperate  impulse  feel, 

Headlong  to  plunge  himself  below, 

And  meet  the  worst  his  fears  foreshow  ? — 

Thus,  Ellen  dizzy  and  astound. 

As  sudden  ruin  yawn'd  around. 

By  crossing  terrors  wildly  toss'd. 

Still  for  the  Douglas  fearing  most, 

1  [MS.-"  Till  the  foil'd  king,  from  hill  and  glen."] 

8  [MS. — ''  Dream'd  calmly  out  their  desperate  dream.'*] 


CANTO  II.J  THE    ISLAND.  99 

Could  scai'ce  the  desperate  thought  withstand. 
To  buj  his  safety  ^vith  her  hand. 

XXXII. 

Such  purpose  dread  could  Malcolm  spy 
In  Ellen's  quivering  lip  and  eye, 
And  eager  rose  to  speak — but  ei*e 
His  tongue  could  hurry  forth  his  fear, 
Had  Douglas  mark'd  the  hectic  strife, 
Where  death  seem'd  combating  with  Hfe  ; 
For  to  her  cheek,  in  feverish  flood, 
One  instant  rush'd  the  throbbing  blood, 
Then  ebbing  back,  with  sudden  sway, 
Left  its  domain  as  wan  as  clay. 
"  Roderick,  enough !  enough  ! "  he  cried, 
"  My  daughter  cannot  be  thy  bride  ; 
Not  that  the  blush  to  wooer  dear, 
Nor  paleness  that  of  maiden  fear, 
It  may  not  be — forgive  her,  Chief, 
Nor  hazard  aught  for  our  relief. 
Against  his  sovereign,  Douglas  ne'er 
Will  level  a  rebellious  spear. 
*Twas  I  that  taught  his  youthful  hand 
To  rein  a  steed  and  wield  a  brand ; 
I  see  him  yet,  the  jnincely  boy  ! 
Not  Ellen  more  my  pride  and  joy ; 
I  love  hkn  still,  despite  my  wrongs, 
By  hasty  wrath,  and  slanderous  tongues 
O  seek  the  grace  you  well  may  find. 
Without  a  cause  to  mine  combined.'* 


100  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CANTO  n 

XXXIII. 

Twice  through  the  hall  the  Chieftain  strode; 
The  waving  of  his  tartans  broad, 
And  darken'd  brow,  where  wounded  pride 
With  ire  and  disappointment  vied, 
Seem'd,  by  the  torch's  gloomy  light, 
Like  the  ill  Demon  of  the  night. 
Stooping  his  pinions'  shadowy  sway 
Upon  the  nighted  pilgrim's  way ; 
But,  unrequited  Love  !  thy  dart 
Plunged  deepest  its  envenom'd  smart, 
And  Roderick,  with  thine  anguish  stung, 
At  length  the  hand  of  Douglas  wrung, 
While  eyes,  that  mock'd  at  tears  before. 
With  bitter  drops  were  running  o'er. 
The  death-pangs  of  long-cherish'd  hope 
Scarce  in  that  ample  breast  had  scope, 
But,  struggling  with  his  spirit  proud. 
Convulsive  heaved  its  checker'd  shroud, 
While  every  sob — so  mute  were  all — 
Was  heard  distinctly  through  the  hall. 
The  son's  despair,  the  mother's  look, 
HI  might  the  gentle  Ellen  brook  ; 
She  rose,  and  to  her  side  there  came. 
To  aid  her  parting  steps,  the  Grasme. 

XXXIV. 

Then  Roderick  from  the  Douglas  broke— 
As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke, 
Kiiidhng  its  wreaths,  long,  dark,  and  low, 


bastoilJ  the  island.  101 

To  one  broad  blaze  of  ruddy  glow, 
So  the  deep  anguish  of  despair  ^ 
Burst,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air. 
With  stalwart  grasp  his  hand  he  laid 
On  Malcolm's  breast  and  belted  plaid ; 
**  Back,  beardless  boy ! "  he  sternly  said, 
"  Back,  minion  !  hold'st  thou  thus  at  naught 
The  lesson  I  so  lately  taught  ? 
This  roof,  the  Douglas,  and  that  maid, 
Thank  thou  for  punishment  delay'd." 
Eager  as  greyhound  on  his  game. 
Fiercely  with  Roderick  grappled  Graeme.* 
"  Perish  my  name,  if  aught  afford 
Its  Chieftain  safety  save  his  sword  ! " 
Thus  as  they  strove,  their  desperate  hand* 
Gripped  to  the  dagger  or  the  brand. 
And  death  had  been — but  Douglas  rose, 
And  thrust  between  the  struggling  foes 
His  giant  strength  :   "  Chieftains,  forego ! 
I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe. — * 

1  [MS. — "  The  deep-toned  anguish  of  despair 
Flush'd,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air."] 

«  [There  is  something  foppish  and  out  of  character  in  Mal- 
colm's rising  to  lead  out  Ellen  from  her  own  parlour;  and  the 
Bort  of  wrestling  match  that  takes  place  between  the  rival 
chieftains  on  the  occasion  is  humiliating  and  indecorous." 
—Jeffrey.] 

•  [MS. — "  Thus,  as  they  strove,  each  better  hand 

Grasp'd  for  the  dagger  or  the  brand."] 

*  The  Author  has  to  apologize  for  the  inadvertent  appro- 
priation of  a  whole  line  from  the  tragedy  of  Douglas, 

*'  I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe.** 
•Note  to  the  Second  Edition.] 


J 


102  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CA&-rj  n. 

Madmen,  forbear  your  frantic  jar ! 

"What !  is  the  Douglas  fall'n  so  far, 

His  daughter's  hand  is  doom'd  the  spoil 

Of  such  dishonourable  broil ! " 

Sullen  and  slowly,  they  unclasp,^ 

As  struck  with  shame,  their  desperate  grasp, 

And  each  upon  his  rival  glared, 

"With  foot  advanced,  and  blade  half  b-ired. 

XXXV. 

Ere  yet  the  brands  aloft  were  flung, 
Margaret  on  Roderick's  mantle  hung, 
And  Malcolm  heard  his  Ellen's  scream. 
As  falter'd  through  terrific  dream. 
Then  Roderick  plunged  in  sheath  his  sword, 
And  veil'd  his  wrath  in  scornful  word. 
"  Rest  safe  till  morning  ;  pity  'twere 
Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air  !  * 

1  [MS. — "  Sullen  and  slow  the  rivals  bold 

Loos'd  at  his  hest  their  desperate  hold, 
But  either  still  on  other  glar'd,"  &c.] 

»  Hardihood  was  in  every  respect  so  essential  to  the  char- 
acter of  a  Highlander,  that  the  reproach  of  effeminacy  was 
the  most  bitter  which  could  be  thrown  upon  him.  Yet  it  waa 
lometimes  hazarded  on  what  we  might  presume  to  think 
♦light  grounds.  It  is  reported  of  old  Sir  Ewen  Cameron,  of 
Lochiel,  when  upwards  of  seventy,  that  he  was  surprised  by 
night  on  a  hunting  or  militarj'  expedition.  He  wrapped  him 
in  his  plaid,  and  lay  contentedly  down  upcn  the  snow,  with 
which  the  ground  happened  to  be  covered.  Among  his  at- 
tendants, who  were  preparing  to  take  their  rest  in  the  same 
manner,  he  observed  that  one  of  his  grandsons,  for  his  better 
accommodation,  had  rolled  a  large  snow-ball  and  placed  it 


OAKTO  n.]  THE    ISLAND.  103 

Then  majest  thou  to  James  Stewart  tell, 
Roderick  will  keep  the  lake  and  fell, 

below  his  head  The  ^Tath  of  the  ancient  chief  was  awak- 
ened by  a  symptom  of  what  he  couceived  to  be  degenerate 
Inxiiiy.  "  Out  upon  thee."  said  he,  kicking  the  frozen  bol- 
ster from  the  head  which  it  supported;  art  thou  so  effemi.iate 
as  to  need  a  pillow?  "  The  officer  of  engineers,  whose  curi- 
ous letters  from  the  Highlands  have  been  more  than  once 
quoted,  tells  a  similar  story  of  Macdonald  of  Keppoch,  and 
subjoins  the  following  remarks  :  "  This  and  many  other 
stories  are  romantick;  but  there  is  one  thing,  that  at  first 
thought  might  seem  very  romantick,  of  which  I  have  been 
credibly  assured,  that  when  the  Highlandei-s  are  constrained 
to  lie  among  the  hills,  in  cold  dry  windy  weather,  they  some- 
times soak  the  plaid  in  some  river  or  burn  (t.  e.)  brook,  and 
then,  holding  up  a  corner  of  it  a  little  above  their  heads,  they 
turn  themselves  round  and  round,  till  they  are  enveloped  by 
the  whole  mantle.  They  then  lay  themselves  down  on  the 
heath,  upon  the  leeward  side  of  some  hill,  where  the  wet  and 
the  warmth  of  their  bodies  make  a  steam,  like  that  of  a  boil- 
ing kettle.  The  wet,  they  say,  keeps  theui  warm  by  thicken- 
ing the  stuff,  and  keeping  the  wind  from  penetrating.  I 
must  confess  I  should  have  been  apt  to  question  this  fact, 
had  I  not  frequently  seen  them  wet  from  morning  to  night, 
and,  even  at  the  beginning  of  the  rain,  not  so  much  as  stir  a 
few  yards  to  shelter,  but  continue  in  it  without  necessity,  till 
they  were,  as  we  say,  wet  through  and  througli.  And  that  i3 
toon  effected  by  the  looseness  and  spunginess  of  the  plaiding; 
but  the  bonnet  is  frequently  taken  off  and  wrung  like  a  dish- 
clout,  and  then  put  on  again.  They  have  been  accustomed 
from  their  infi\ncy  to  be  often  wet,  and  to  take  the  water  like 
spaniels,  and  this  is  become  a  second  nature,  and  can  scarcely 
be  called  a  hardship  to  them,  insomuch  that  I  used  to  say, 
they  seemed  to  be  of  the  duck  kind,  and  to  love  water  aa 
»«ell.  Though  I  never  saw  tais  preparation  for  sleep  in 
vindy  weather,  yet,  setting  out  early  in  a  morning  from  one 
)f  the  huts,  I  have  seen  the  marks  of  their  lodging,  where 
Uie  ground  has  been  free  from  rime  or  snow,  which  remained 


J 


104  THE    LADY    OP    THE   LAKE.       [CAKTO II 

Nor  lackey,  with  his  freebom  clan, 

The  pageant  pomp  of  earthly  man. 

More  would  he  of  Clan-Alpine  know, 

Thou  canst  our  strength  and  passes  show. — 

Malise,  what  ho ! " — his  henchman  came  ;  * 

"  Give  our  safe-conduct  to  the  Graeme." 

Young  Malcolm  answer'd,  calm  and  bold, 

"  Fear  nothing  for  thy  favourite  hold ; 

The  spot,  an  angel  deigned  to  grace, 

Is  bless'd,  though  robbers  haunt  the  place. 

Thy  chui'Hsh  courtesy  for  those 

Reserve,  who  fear  to  be  thy  foes. 

As  safe  to  me  the  mountain  way 

At  midnight  as  in  blaze  of  day, 

all  round  the  spot  where  they  had  lain." — Letters  from  Sco^ 
land,  Lond.  1754,  8vo.,  il.  p.  108. 

1  "  This  oflScer  is  a  sort  of  secretary,  and  is  to  be  ready, 
upon  all  occasions,  to  venture  his  life  in  defence  of  his  master; 
and  at  drinking-bouts  he  stands  behind  his  seat,  at  his 
oaunch,  from  whence  his  title  is  derived,  and  watches  the 
conversation,  to  see  if  any  one  oflfends  his  patron.  An  Eng- 
lish officer  being  in  company  with  a  certain  chieftain,  and 
several  other  Highland  gentlemen,  near  Kilichumen,  had  an 
argument  with  the  great  man:  and  both  being  weU  warmed 
with  usky,i  at  last  the  dispute  grew  very  hot.  A  youth  who 
was  henchman,  not  understanding  one  word  of  English, 
imagined  his  chief  was  insulted,  and  thereupon  drew  his 
pistol  from  his  side,  and  snapped  it  at  the  oflBcer's  head;  but 
the  pistol  missed  fire,  otherwise  it  is  more  than  probable  he 
might  have  sufiered  death  from  the  hand  of  that  little  ver- 
\nin.  But  it  is  verj'  disagreeable  to  an  Englishman  over  a 
bottle,  with  the  Highlanders,  to  see  every  one  of  them  have 
his  gilly,  that  is,  his  servant  standing  behind  him,  all  the 
vhile,  let  what  will  be  the  subject  of  conversation." — Leiien 
fvom  Scotland,  ii.  159. 

[1  Whisky.] 


CAjnou.] 


THE    ISLAND.  106 


Though  with  his  boldest  at  his  back 
Even  Rodei-ick  Dhu  beset  the  track. — 
Brave  Douglas, — lovely  Ellen, — nay, 
Nought  here  of  parting  will  I  say. 
Earth  does  not  hold  a  lonesome  glen, 
So  secret,  but  we  meet  agen. — 
Chieftain  !  we  too  shall  find  an  hour." — 
He  said,  and  left  the  sylvan  bower. 

XXXVI. 

Old  Allan  follow'd  to  the  strand, 
(Such  was  the  Douglas's  command,) 
And  anxious  told,  how,  on  the  morn, 
The  stem  Sir  Roderick  deep  had  sworn, 
The  Fiery  Cross  should  circle  o'er 
Dale,  glen,  and  valley,  down,  and  moor 
Much  were  the  peril  to  the  Graeme, 
From  those  who  to  the  signal  came  ; 
Far  up  the  lake  'twere  safest  land. 
Himself  would  row  him  to  the  strand. 
He  grave  his  counsel  to  the  wind, 
While  Malcolm  did,  unheeding,  bind, 
Round  dirk  and  pouch  and  broadsword  rolled, 
His  ample  plaid  in  tighten'd  fold. 
And  stripp'd  his  limbs  to  such  array, 
As  best  might  suit  the  watery  way, — 

XXXVII. 

Then  spoke  abrupt :  "  Farewell  to  thee, 
Pattern  of  old  fidelity  ! " 


106  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       [cANTO  n 

The  IMinstrel's  hand  he  kindly  press'd, — 
"  O  !  could  I  point  a  place  of  rest ! 
My  sovereign  holds  m  ward  my  land, 
My  uncle  leads  my  vassal  band ; 
To  tame  his  foes,  his  friends  to  aid, 
Foor  Malcolm  has  but  heart  and  blade. 
Yet,  if  there  be  one  faithful  Graeme, 
Who  loves  the  Chieftain  of  his  name, 
\Not  long  shall  honoured  Douglas  dwell, 
Like  hunted  stag  in  mountain  cell ; 
Nor,  ere  yond  pride-swoll'n  robber  dare, — 
I  may  not  give  the  rest  to  au* ! 
Tell  Roderick  Dim,  I  owed  hun  nought, 
Not  the  poor  service  of  a  boat, 
To  waft  me  to  yon  mountain  side." 
Then  plunged  he  in  the  flashing  tide.^ 
Bold  o'er  the  flood  his  head  he  bore. 
And  stoutly  steer'd  him  from  the  shore ; 
And  Allan  strain'd  his  anxious  eye, 
Far  'mid  the  lake  his  form  to  spy. 
Darkening  across  each  puny  wave, 
To  which  the  moon  her  silver  gave, 
Fast  as  the  cormorant  could  skim, 
The  swimmer  plied  each  active  limb ; 
Then  landing  in  the  moonlight  dell, 
Loud  shouted  of  his  weal  to  tell. 
The  Minstrel  heard  the  far  halloo, 
And  joyful  from  the  shore  withdrew. 

I  [MS.—"  He  spoke,  and  plunged  into  the  tide."] 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE 


CANTO    THIRD. 


THE    GATHERING. 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE 


CANTO    THIRD. 


THE   GATHERING. 

I. 

Time  rolls  his  ceaseless  course.     The  race  of 
yore,* 

Who  danced  our  infancy  upon  their  knee, 
And  told  our  marvelling  boyhood  legends  store, 

Of  their  strange  ventures  happ'd  by  land  or  sea, 
How  are  they  blotted  from  the  things  that  be ! 

How  few,  all  weak  and  wither'd  of  their  force, 

1  ["  There  are  no  separate  introductions  to  the  cantos  of 
this  poem:  but  each  of  them  begins  with  one  or  two  stanzas 
in  the  measure  of  Spenser,  usually  containing  some  reflec-  y 

tions  connected  with  the  subject  about  to  be  entered  on;  and 
written,  for  the  most  part,  with  great  tenderness  and  beauty. 
The  following  we  think,  is  among  the  most  striking." — JKr- 

IRKT.] 


110  TUE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  m 

Wait  on  the  verge  of  dark  eternity, 

Like  stranded  wrecks,  the  tide  returning  hoarse, 
To  sweep  them  from  our  sight!  Time  rolls  his 

ceaseless  course. 
Yet  live  there  still  who  can  remember  well. 

How,  when  a  mountain  chief  his  bugle  blew, 
Both  field  and  forest,  dingle,  cliff,  and  dell. 

And  solitar}'  heath,  the  signal  knew  , 
And  fast  the  faithful  clan  around  him  drew. 

What  time  the  warning  note  was  keenly  wound, 
What  time  aloft  their  kindred  banner  flew. 

While  clamorous  war-pipes  yell'd  the  gathering 
sound, 
And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor, 
round.^ 

11. 

The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 
To  purple  changed  Loch  Katrine  blue; 
Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 
Just  kiss'd  the  lake,  just  stirr'd  the  trees, 
And  the  pleased  lake,  like  maiden  coy, 
Trembled  but  dimpled  not  for  joy ; 
The  mountain-shadows  on  her  breast 
Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest ; 
In  bright  uncertainty  they  lie. 
Like  future  joys  to  Fancy's  eye. 
The  water-lily  to  the  hght 
Her  chalice  rear'd  of  silver  bright ; 
1  [See  Appendix,  Note  F.l 


tANTO  m.]  THE    GATHERING.  Ill 

The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

Begemm'd  with  dewdrops,  led  her  fawn ; 

The  gray  mist  left  ^  the  mountain  side. 

The  torrent  show'd  its  glistening  pride ; 

Invisible  in  flecked  sky. 

The  lark  sent  down  her  revelry ; 

The  blackbird  and  the  speckled  thrush 

Good-morrow  gave  from  brake  and  bush ;  * 

In  answer  coo'd  the  cushat  dove 

Her  notes  of  peace,  and  rest,  and  love. 

ni. 
No  thought  of  peace,  no  thought  of  rest, 
Assuasred  the  storm  in  Roderick's  breast. 
With  sheathed  broadsword  in  his  hand. 
Abrupt  he  paced  the  islet  strand. 
And  eyed  the  rising  sun,  and  laid 
His  hand  on  his  impatient  blade. 
Beneath  a  rock,  his  vassals*  care  ' 
Was  prompt  the  ritual  to  prepare, 

1  [MS.—"  The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

Begemm'd  with  dewdrops,  led  her  fawn; 
Invisible  in  fleecy  cloud, 
The  lark  sent  down  her  matins  loud; 
The  light  mist  left,"  &c.] 

2  [ "  The  green  hills 

Are  clothed  with  early  blossoms;  through  the  grass 

The  quick-eyed  lizard  rustles,  and  the  bills 

Of  summer  birds  sing  welcome  as  ye  pass." — Childe  Hnrcld.] 

8  f  ilS. — "  Hard  by,  his  vassals'  early  care 
The  mystic  ritual  prepare,"! 


112  THE   LADY    OF   THE   LAKE.       [CAHTO  m 

With  deep  and  deathful  meaning  fraught ; 
For  such  Antiquity  had  taught 
Was  preface  meet,  ere  jet  abroad 
The  Cross  of  Fire  should  take  its  road. 
The  shrinking  band  stood  oft  aghast 
At  the  impatient  glance  he  cast ; — 
Such  glance  the  mountain  eagle  threw, 
As,  from  the  cliffs  of  Benvenue, 
She  spread  her  dark  sails  on  the  wind, 
And  high  in  middle  heaven,  reclined. 
With  her  broad  shadow  on  the  lake, 
Silenced  the  warblers  of  the  brake. 

IV. 

A  heap  of  wither'd  boughs  was  piled, 
Of  juniper  and  rowan  wild, 
Mingled  with  shivers  from  the  oak, 
Rent  by  the  lightning's  recent  stroke. 
VBrian,  the  Hermit,  by  it  stood, 
Barefooted,  in  his  frock  and  hood. 
His  grisled  beard  and  matted  hair 
Obscured  a  visage  of  despair ; 
His  naked  arms  and  legs,  seam'd  o'er, 
The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore. 
That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face,* 
The  impending  danger  of  his  race 
Had  drawn  from  deepest  solitude. 
Far  in  Benharrow's  bosom  rude. 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  6.] 


•ASTOm-j  THE    GATHEEING.  113 

Not  his  the  mien  of  Christian  priest, 

But  Druid's,  from  the  grave  released. 

Whose  harden'd  heart  and  eye  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look  ; 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore 

Mix'd  in  the  charms  he  mutter'd  o'er. 

The  hallowed  creed  gave  only  worse  * 

And  deadher  emphasis  of  curse  ; 

No  peasant  sought  that  Hermit's  prayer, 

His  cave  the  pilgrim  shunn'd  with  care, 

The  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound, 

And  in  mid  chase  call'd  off  his  hound ; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath. 

The  desert-dweller  met  his  path, 

He  pra/d,  and  sign'd  the  cross  between. 

While  terror  took  devotion's  mien.^ 

V. 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told.' 
His  mother  watch'd  a  midnight  fold, 

1  [MS. — "  While  the  bless'd  creed  gave  only  worse."] 

*  [MS. — "  He  pray'd  with  many  a  cross  between, 

And  terror  took  devotion's  mien."] 

•  The  legend  which  follows  is  not  of  the  author's  invention. 
It  is  possible  he  may  differ  from  modem  critics,  in  supposing 
that  the  records  of  human  superstition,  if  peculiar  to,  and 
characteristic  of,  the  country  in  which  the  scene  is  laid,  are 
u  legitimate  subject  of  poetn.*.  He  gives,  however,  a  ready 
assent  to  the  narrower  proposition,  which  condemns  all  at- 
tempts of  an  irregular  and  disordered  fancy  to  excite  terror, 
l>y  accimiulating  a  train  of  fantastic  and  incoherent  horrors, 

8 


114  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CANTC  HI. 

Built  deep  within  a  dreary  glen, 
Where  scattered  lay  the  bones  of  men, 

whether  borrowed  from  all  countries,  and  patched  upon  a 
narrative  belonghig  to  one  which  knew  them  not,  or  derived 
from  the  author's  own  imagination.  In  the  present  case, 
therefore,  I  appeal  to  the  record  which  I  have  transcribed, 
with  the  variation  of  a  very  few  words,  from  the  geographical 
collections  made  by  the  Laird  of  Macfarlane.  I  know  not 
whether  it  be  necessary  to  remark,  that  the  miscellaneous 
concourse  of  youths  and  maidens  on  the  night  and  on  the 
spot  where  the  miracle  is  said  to  have  taken  place,  might, 
even  in  a  credulous  age,  have  somewhat  diminished  the  won- 
der which  accompanied  the  conception  of  Gilli-Doir-Magre- 
vollich. 

"  There  is  bot  two  myles  from  Inverloghie,  the  church  of 
Kilmalee,  in  Loghyeld.  In  ancient  tymes  there  was  ane 
church  builded  upon  ane  hill,  which  was  above  this  church, 
which  doeth  now  stand  in  this  toune;  and  ancient  men  doeth 
say,  that  there  was  a  battell  foughteu  on  ane  litle  hill  not  the 
tenth  part  of  a  myle  from  this  church,  be  certaine  men  which 
they  did  not  know  what  they  were.  And  long  tj-me  there- 
after, certaine  herds  of  that  toune,  and  of  the  next  toune, 
called  Unnatt,  both  wenches  and  youthes,  did  on  a  tyme  con- 
veen  with  others  on  that  hill;  and  the  day  beiiig  somewhat 
cold,  did  gather  the  bones  of  the  dead  men  that  were  slayne 
long  tyme  before  in  that  place,  and  did  make  a  fire  to  warm 
them.  At  last  they  did  ail  remove  from  the  fire,  except  one 
maid  or  wench,  which  was  verie  cold,  and  she  did  remaine 
there  for  a  space.  She  being  quyetlie  her  alone,  without  auie 
other  companie,  tooke  up  her  cloaths  above  her  knees,  or 
thereby,  to  warm  her;  a  wind  did  come  and  caste  the  ashes 
upon  her,  and  she  was  cunceived  of  ane  man-chyld.  Sevcrall 
tymes  thereafter  she  was  verie  sick,  and  at  last  she  was 
knowne  to  be  with  chyld.  And  then  her  parents  did  ask  at 
her  the  matter  heiroff,  which  the  wench  could  not  weel 
answer  which  way  to  satisfie  them.  At  last  she  resolved 
them  with  ane  answer.     As  fortune  fell  upon  her  coucerniug 


OAJrroni]  THE    GATHERING.  115 

In  some  forgotten  battle  slain, 

And  bleach'd  by  drifting  wind  and  rain. 

It  might  have  tamed  a  warrior's  heart.* 

To  view  such  mockery  of  his  art ! 

The  knot-grass  fetter'd  there  the  hand, 

Which  once  could  bui*st  an  iron  band ; 

IJenealh  the  broad  and  ample  bone, 

That  buckler'd  heart  to  fear  unknown, 

A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest. 

The  field-fare  framed  her  lowly  nest ; 

There  the^slow  blind-worm  left  his  slime 

On  the  fleet  limbs  that  mock'd  at  time ; 

And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull,^ 

Still  wreathed  with  chaplet,  flushed  and  full, 


this  man-ellous  miificle,  the  chyld  being  borne,  his  name  waa 
called  GiU-doir  Maf/hrevoUich,  that  is  to  say,  the  Black  Child, 
Son  to  the  Banes.  So  called,  his  grandfather  sent  him  to 
Bchool,  and  so  he  was  a  good  schollar,  and  godlie.  He  did 
build  this  church  ^vhich  doeth  now  stand  in  Lochyeld,  called 
Kilmalee."— Macfarlaxe,  ut  eupra,  ii.  188. 

'  ["  There  is  something  of  pride  in  the  perilous  hour, 
Whate'er  be  the  shape  in  which  death  may  lower; 
For  Fame  is  there  to  sny  who  bleeds, 
And  Honour's  eye  on  daring  deeds! 
But  when  all  is  past,  it  is  humbliirg  to  tread 
O'er  the  welterijig  field  of  tlie  tombless  dead, 
And  see  worms  of  the  earth,  and  fowls  of  the  air, 
Beasrs  of  the  forest,  all  gathering  there; 
All  regarding  man  as  their  prey. 
All  rejoicing  in  his  decay."— By Rox—/Si€.9e  of  Corinth.'} 

["  Remove  yon  skull  from  out  the  scattered  heaps. 
Is  that  a  temple  where  a  god  may  dwell? 


116  THE    LADY    OF   THE   LAKE.       [CAMlt)  m 

For  heath-bell,  with  her  purple  bloom. 
Supplied  the  bonnet  and  the  plume.^ 
All  night,  in  this  sad  glen,  the  maid 
Sate,  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade : 
— She  said,  no  shepherd  sought  her  side,, 
No  hunter's  hand  her  snood  untied, 
Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 
The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear ;  ^ 
Gone  was  her  maiden  glee  and  sport. 
Her  maiden  girdle  all  too  short. 

Why,  even  the  worm  Jit  last  disdains  her  shattered  cell  I 

Look  on  its  broken  arch,  its  ruin'd  wall, 

Its  chambers  desolate,  and  portals  foul ; 

Yet  this  was  once  Ambition's  airy  hall, 

The  dome  of  thought,  the  palace  of  the  soul; 

Behold  through  each  lack-lustre,  eyeless  hole, 

The  gay  recess  of  wisdom  and  of  wit, 

And  passion's  host,  that  never  brook' d  controul ; 

Can  all  saint,  sage,  or  sophist  ever  writ. 

People  this  lonely  tower,  this  tenement  refit  ?  " 

Childe  Earold.] 

1  ["  These  reflections  on  an  ancient  field  of  battle  afibrd 
the  most  remarkable  instance  of  false  taste  in  all  Mr..  Scott's 
writings.  Yet  the  brevity  and  variety  of  the  images  serve 
well  to  show,  that  even  in  his  errors  there  are  traces  of  a 
powerful  genius." — Jeffrey.] 

2  The  snood,  or  ribbon,  with  which  a  Scottish  lass  braided 
her  hair,  had  an  emblematical  signification,  and  applied  to 
her  maiden  character.  It  was  exchanged  for  the  curch,  toy, 
or  coif,  v/hen  she  passed,  by  marriage,  into  the  matron  state. 
But  if  the  damsel  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose  pretensions 
to  the  name  of  maiden,  without  gaining  a  right  to  that  of 
matron,  she  was  neither  permitted  to  use  the  snood,  nor  ad 
tanked  to  the  graver  dignity  of  the  curch.    In  old  Scottifih 


f  ANTO  ra.J  THE    GATHERING.  117 

Nor  sought  she,  from  that  fatal  night, 
Or  holy  clmrch  or  blessed  rite, 
But  lock'd  her  secret  in  her  breast, 
And  died  in  travail,  unconfess'd. 

VI. 

Alone,  among  his  young  compeers, 
Was  Brian  from  his  infant  years ; 
A  moody  and  heart-broken  boy. 
Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy, 
Bearing  each  taunt  with  careless  tongue 
On  his  mysterious  lineage  flung. 
Whole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale. 
To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail. 
Till,  frantic,  he  as  truth  received  ^ 
What  of  his  birth  the  crowd  believed, 
And  sought,  in  mist  and  meteor  fire, 
To  meet  and  know  his  Phantom  Sire ! 
In  vain,  to  soothe  his  wayward  fate. 
The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate ; 
In  vain,  the  leamino:  of  the  aoje 
Unclasp'd  the  sable-letter'd  page  ; 

songs  there  occur  many  sly  allusions  to  such  misfortune;  as 
in  the  old  "words  to  the  popular  tune  of  "  Ower  the  moir 
imang  the  heather." 

"  Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 

Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie, 

The  lassie  lost  her  silken  snood, 

That  gard  her  greet  till  she  was  wearie  ** 

»  [MS. — "  Till  driven  to  frenzy,  he  believed 

The  legend  of  his  birth  received."] 


118  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  m. 

Even  in  its  treasures  he  could  find 

Food  for  the  fever  of  his  mind. 

Eager  he  read  whatever  tells 

Of  magic,  cabala,  and  spells. 

And  every  dai-k  pursuit  allied 

To  curious  and  presumptuous  pride  ; 

Till  with  fired  brain  and  nerves  o'erstrung, 

And  heart  with  mystic  horrors  wrung, 

Desperate  he  sought  Benharrow's  den, 

And  hid  him  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

VII. 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild. 
Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child.^ 

1  In  adopting  the  legend  concerning  the  birth  of  the  Foun- 
der of  the  Church  of  Kihnalee,  the  author  has  endeavoured 
to  trace  the  effects  which  such  a  behef  was  likely  to  produce, 
m  a  barbarous  age,  on  the  person  to  Avhom  it  related.  It 
seems  likely  that  he  must  have  become  a  fanatic  or  an  im- 
postor, or  that  mixture  of  both  which  forms  a  moie  frequent 
character  than  either  of  them,  as  existing  separately.  In 
truth,  mad  persons  are  frequently  more  anxious  to  impress 
upon  others  a  faith  in  their  visions  than  they  are  themselves 
confirmed  in  their  reality;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  difficult 
for  the  most  cool-headed  impostor  long  to  personate  an  en- 
thusiast, without  in  some  degree  believing  what  he  is  so 
eager  to  have  believed.  It  was  a  natural  attribute  of  such  a 
character  as  the  supposed  hermit,  that  he  should  credit  the 
numerous  superstitions  with  which  the  minds  of  ordinary 
Highlanders  are  almost  always  imbued.  A  few  of  these  are 
slightly  alluded  to  in  this  stanza.  The  Kiver  Demon,  or 
Biver-horse,  for  it  is  that  form  Avnich  he  commonly  assumes 
is  the  Kelpy  of  the  Lowlands,  an  evil  and  malicious  spirit; 
delighting  to  forebode  and  to  witness  calamity.    He  frequenti 


DA.NTO  m.]  THE    GATHERING.  119 

Where  with  black  cliffs  the  torrents  toil. 
He  watch'd  the  wheeling  eddies  boil, 
Till,  from  their  foam,  his  dazzled  eyes 
Beheld  the  River  Demon  rise  ; 
The  mountain  mist  took  form  and  limb, 
Of  noontide  hag,  or  goblin  grim ; 
The  midnight  wind  came  wild  and  dread, 
JSwell'd  with  the  voices  of  the  dead ; 
Far  on  the  future  battle-heath 
His  eye  beheld  the  ranks  of  death : 
Thus  the  lone  Seer,  from  mankind  hurl'd, 
Shaped  forth  a  disembodied  world. 
One  lingering  sympathy  of  mind 
Still  bound  him  to  the  mortal  kind ; 
The  only  parent  he  could  claim 
Of  ancient  Alpine's  lineage  came. 

most  Highland  lakes  and  rivers ;  and  one  of  his  most  mem<v 
rable  exploits  was  performed  upon  the  banks  of  Loch  Venna- 
char,  iu  the  very  district  which  forms  the  scene  of  our  ac- 
tion: it  consisted  in  the  destruction  of  a  funeral  procession 
with  all  its  attendants.  The  "noontide  hag,"  called  in  Gae- 
lic Glas-lkh,  a  tall,  emaciated,  gigantic  female  figure,  is  sup- 
posed in  particular  to  haunt  the  district  of  Knoidart.  A 
goblin  dressed  in  antique  annour,  and  having  one  hand 
covered  with  blood,  called  from  that  circumstance  Ikam- 
dearg,  or  Red-hand,  is  a  tenant  of  the  forests  of  Glenmore 
and  Rothiemurcus.  Other  sprits  of  the  desert,  all  frightful 
in  shape  and  malignant  in  disposition,  are  believed  to  fre 
quent  diflfereut  mountains  and  glens  of  the  Highlands,  where 
any  unusual  appearance,  produced  by  mist,  or  the  strange 
lights  that  are  sometimes  thrown  upon  particular  objects, 
never  fails  to  present  an  apparition  to  the  imagination  of 
the  solitary  and  melancholy  mountaineer. 


120  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     fCANlO  m. 

Late  had  he  heard,  in  prophet's  dream, 
The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream  ; ' 
Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 
Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 
Along  Benharrow's  shingly  side, 
Where  mortal  horseman  ne'er  might  ride  ;  • 
The  thunderbolt  had  split  the  pine, 
All  augur'd  ill  to  Alpine's  line. 
He  girt  his  loins,  and  came  to  show 
The  signals  of  impending  woe, 


1  [MS. — "  The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  dismal  scream; 

And  seen  her  wrinkled  form,  the  sign 
Of  woe  and  death  to  Alpine's  line."] 

Most  great  families  in  the  Highlands  were  supposed  to 
have  a  tutelar,  or  rather  a  domestic  spirit,  attached  to  them, 
who  took  an  interest  in  their  prosperity,  and  intimated,  by 
its  wailings,  any  approaching  disaster.  That  of  Grant  of 
Grant  was  called  May  MouUach,  and  appeared  in  the  form 
of  a  girl,  who  had  her  arm  covered  with  hair.  Grant  of 
Eothiemurcus  had  an  attendant  called  Bodach-an-dun,  or  the 
Ghost  of  the  Hill ;  and  many  other  examples  might  be  men- 
tioned. The  Ban-Schie  implies  a  female  Fairy,  whose  lamen- 
tations were  often  supposed  to  precede  the  death  of  a  chief- 
tain of  particular  families.  When  she  is  visible  it  is  in  the 
form  of  an  old  woman,  with  a  blue  mantle  and  streaming 
hair.  A  superstition  of  the  same  kind  is,  I  believe,  univer- 
sally received  by  the  inferior  ranks  of  the  native  Irish. 

The  death  of  the  head  of  a  Highland  family  is  also  some- 
times supposed  to  be  announced  by  a  chain  of  lights  of  differ 
ent  colours,  called  Dr'eug,  or  death  of  the  Druid.  The  di 
rection  which  it  takes,  marks  the  place  of  the  funeral.  [Se« 
the  Essay  on  Fairy  Superstitions  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy.] 

2  [See  Appendix,  Note  H.] 


VASTO  III.]  THE    GATHlRIXG.  121 

And  now  stood  prompt  to  bless  or  ban, 
As  bade  the  Chieftain  of  his  clan. 


VIII. 

'Twas  all  prepard  ; — and  from  the  rock, 
A  goat  the  patriarch  of  the  flock, 
Before  the  kindling  pile  was  laid, 
And  pierced  by  Roderick's  ready  blade. 
Patient  the  sickening  victim  eyed 
The  life-blood  ebb  in  crim^Jon  tide, 
Down  his  clogg'd  beard  and  shaggy  limb, 
Till  darkness  glazed  his  eyeballs  dim. 
The  grisly  priest,  with  murmuring  prayer, 
A  slender  crosslet  form'd  with  care, 
A  cubit's  length  in  measure  due  ; 
The  shaft  and  limbs  were  rods  of  yew, 
Whose  parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave  * 
Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave, 

^  Inch-CiiUiach,  the  Isle  of  Nuns,  or  of  Old  Women,  is  a 
most  beautiful  island  at  the  lower  extremity  of  Loch  Lo- 
mond. The  church  belonging  to  the  former  nunnery  -was  long 
used  as  the  place  of  worship  for  the  parish  of  Buchanan, 
but  scarce  any  vestiges  of  it  now  remain.  The  burial-ground 
continues  to  be  used,  and  contains  the  family  places  of  sep- 
ulture of  several  neighbouring  clans.  The  monuments  of 
the  lairds  of  Macgregor,  and  of  other  families,  claiming  a 
descent  from  the  old  Scottish  King  Alpine,  are  most  remark- 
able. Tne  Highlanders  are  as  zealous  of  their  rights  of  sep- 
ulture, as  may  be  expected  from  a  people  whose  whole  laws 
and  government,  if  clanship  can  be  called  so,  turned  upon 
the  single  principle  of  family  descent,  "  May  his  ashes  be 
icattered  on  the  water,"  was  one  of  the  deepest  and  most 
•olcmu  imprecations  which  they  used  against  an  enemy. 


122  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  lU 

And  answering  Lomond's  breezes  deep, 
Soothe  many  a  chieftain's  endless  sleep. 
Th6  Cross,  thus  form'd,  he  held  on  high, 
With  wasted  hand,  and  haggard  eye. 
And  strange  and  mingled  feelings  woke. 
While  his  anathema  he  spoke. 

IX. 

"  Woe  to  the  clansman,  who  shall  \'iew 
This  symbol  of  sepulchral  yew, 
Forgetful  that  its  branches  grew 
Where  weep  the  heavens  their  holiest  dew 

On  Alpine's  dwelling  low  ! 
Deserter  of  his  Chieftain's  trust. 
He  ne'er  shall  mingle  with  their  dust, 
But,  from  his  sires  and  kindred  thrust. 
Each  clansman's  execration  just  ^ 

Shall  doom  him  wrath  and  woe." 
He  paused ; — the  word  the  vassals  took, 
With  forward  step  and  fiery  look. 
On  high  their  naked  brands  they  shook, 
Their  clattering  targets  wildly  strook  ;  ^ 

And  first  in  murmur  low, 
Then,  like  the  billow  in  his  course, 

[See  a  detailed  description  of  the  funeral  ceremonies  of  a 
Hi^liliiiid  chieftain  in  the  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  Waverleu  N<n> 
els,  vol.  43,  chaps,  x.  and  xi.    New  Edit.'\ 
1  [MS. — "  Our  warriors,  on  his  worthless  bust, 

Shall  speak  disgrace  and  woe."] 
3  [MS. — "  Their  clattering  targets  hardly  strook: 
And  first  they  mutter^ d  low  "1 


CAHTO  m.:  THE    GATHERING.  123 

That  far  to  seaward  finds  his  source, 
And  flings  to  shore  his  muster'd  force, 
Burst,  with  loud  roar,  their  answer  hoarse, 

"  Woe  to  the  traitor,  woe  !  " 
Ben-an's  gi'av  scalp  the  accents  knew, 
The  joyous  wolf  from  covert  drew, 
The  exulting  eagle  scream'd  afar, — 
They  knew  the  voice  of  Alpine's  war. 


The  shout  was  hush'd  on  lake  and  fell, 
The  monk  resumed  his  mutter'd  spell : 
Dismal  and  low  its  accents  came, 
The  while  he  scathed  the  Cross  with  flame; 
And  the  few  words  that  reach'd  the  air. 
Although  the  holiest  name  was  there,* 
Had  more  o^  blasphemy  than  prayer. 
But  when  he  shook  above  the  crowd 
Its  kindled  points,  he  spoke  aloud  : — 
"  Woe  to  the  wretch  who  fails  to  rear 
At  this  dread  sign  the  ready  spear ! 
For,  as  the  flames  this  symbol  sear. 
His  home,  the  refuge  of  his  fear, 

A  kindred  fate  shall  know  ; 
Far  o'er  its  roof  the  volumed  flame 
Clan- Alpine's  vengeance  shall  proclaim, 
While  maids  and  matrons  on  his  name 
Shall  call  down  wretchedness  and  shame, 

And  infamy  and  woe." 

1  fMS. — "  Although  the  holy  name  was  there.'  ) 


124  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      ICAJTTO  m 

Then  rose  the  cry  of  females,  shrill 
As  goss-hawk's  whistle  on  the  hill, 
Denouncing  misery  and  ill, 
Mingled  with  childhood's  babbling  trill 

Of  curses  stammer'd  slow ; 
Answering,  with  imprecation  dread, 
"  Sunk  be  his  home  in  embers  red ! 
And  cursed  be  the  meanest  shed 
That  e'er  shall  hide  the  houseless  head, 

"We  doom  to  want  and  woe  !  " 
A  sharp  and  shrieking  echo  gave, 
Coir-Uriskin,  thy  gobUn  cave  ! 
And  the  gray  pass  where  birches  wave. 

On  Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 

Then  deeper  paused  the  priest  aiffew. 
And  hard  his  labouring  breath  he  drew, 
While,  with  set  teeth  and  clenched  hand, 
And  eyes  that  glow'd  like  fiery  brand. 
He  meditated  curse  more  dread, 
And  deadlier,  on  the  clansman's  head. 
Who,  summon'd  to  his  Chieftain's  aid. 
The  signal  saw  and  disobey'd. 
The  crosslet's  points  of  sparkling  wood, 
He  quench'd  among  the  bubbling  blood, 
And,  as  again  the  sign  he  rear'd. 
Hollow  and  hoarse  his  voice  was  heard : 
"  When  flits  this  Cross  from  man  to  man, 
Vich- Alpine's  summons  to  his  clan, 


CAJJTO  m.J  THE    GATHERING.  125 

Burst  be  the  ear  that  fails  to  heed  ! 
Palsied  the  foot  that  shuns  to  speed ! 
May  ravens  tear  the  careless  eyes, 
Wolves  make  the  coward  heai't  their  prize ! 
As  sinks  that  blood-stream  in  the  earth, 
So  may  his  heart's-blood  drench  liis  hearth  I 
As  dies  in  hissing  gore  the  spark. 
Quench  thou  his  light,  Destruction  dark  ! 
And  be  the  grace  to  him  denied, 
Bought  by  this  sign  to  all  beside ! " 
He  ceased  ;  no  echo  gave  agen 
The  murmur  of  the  deep  Amen.^ 

XII. 

Then  Roderick,  with  impatient  look, 

From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took : 

"  Speed,  Mahse,  speed  !  "  he  said,  and  gave 

The  crosslet  to  his  henchman  brave. 

"  The  muster-place  be  Lanrick  mead — ^ 

Listant  the  time — speed,  Malise,  speed !  '* 

Like  heath-bird,  when  the  hawks  pursue, 

A  barge  across  Loch  Katrine  flew  ; 

High  stood  the  henchman  on  the  prow ; 

So  rapidly  the  bargemen  row. 

The  bubbles,  where  they  launch'd  the  boat. 

Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat, 

Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  still, 

i  [MS. — "  The  slowly  mutter' d  deep  Amen."] 
■  [^iS.— "Murlagan  is  the  spot  decreed."] 


126  THE    LADY    OJ?    THE    LAKE.      [CASTO  III. 

When  it  had  near'd  the  mainland  hill ; 
And  from  the  silver  beach's  side 
Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide, 
When  lightly  bounded  to  the  land 
The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 


XIII. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  dun  deer's  hide 
On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied.^ 
Speed,  Malise,  speed  !  such  cause  of  haste 
Thine  active  sinews  never  braced. 
Bend  'gainst  the  steepy  hill  thy  breast, 
Burst  down  like  torrent  from  its  crest ; 

1  The  present  brogue,  of  the  Highlanders  is  made  of  half- 
dried  leather,  with  holes  to  admit  and  let  out  the  water;  for 
walking  the  moors  dry  shod  is  a  matter  altogether  out  of 
question.  The  ancient  buskin  was  still  ruder,  being  made 
of  undressed  deer's  hide,  with  the  hair  outwards;  a  circum- 
stance which  procured  the  Highlanders  the  well-known 
epithet  of  Red-shanks.  The  process  is  very  accurately  de- 
scribed by  one  Elder  (himself  a  Highlander)  in  the  project 
for  a  union  between  England  and  Scotland,  addressed  to 
Henry  VI 11.  "  We  go  a-hunting,  and  after  that  we  have 
slain  red-deer,  we  flay  off  the  skin  by-and-by,  and  setting  of 
our  barefoot  on  the  inside  thereof,  for  want  of  cunning  shoe- 
makers, by  your  gi-ace's  pardon,  we  play  the  cobblers,  com- 
passing and  measuring  so  much  thereof  as  shall  reach  up  to 
our  ankles,  pricking  the  upper  part  thereof  with  holes,  that 
the  water  maj'  repass  where  it  enters,  and  stretching  it  up 
with  a  strong  thong  of  the  same  above  our  said  ankles.  Sc 
and  please  your  noble  grace,  we  make  our  shoes.  Therefore 
we  using  such  manner  of  shoes,  the  rough  hairy  side  out 
wards,  in  your  grace's  dominions  of  England,  we  be  called 
Itmghfooted  5cote."— Pinkerton's  Msim-y,  vol.  ii.  p.  397. 


•JAKTOra.]  THE    GAIHERING.  127 

With  sliort  and  springing  footstep  pass 
The  trembling  bog  and  false  morass ; 
Across  the  brook  like  roebuck  bound, 
And  thread  the  brake  like  questing  hound ; 
The  crag  is  high,  the  scaur  is  deep, 
Yet  shrink  not  from  the  desjjerate  leap : 
Parch'd  are  thy  burning  lips  and  brow, 
Yet  by  the  fountain  pause  not  now ; 
Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear,' 
Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career  ! 
The  wounded  hind  thou  track'st  not  now, 
Pursuest  not  maid  through  greenwood  bough, 
Nor  pliest  thou  now  thy  flying  pace, 
"With  rivals  in  the  mountain  race  ; 
But  danger,  death,  and  warrior  deed, 
Are  in  thy  course — speed,  Malise,  speed  I 

XIV. 

Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  flies. 
In  arms  the  huts  and  hamlets  rise ; 
From  winding  glen,  from  upland  brown. 
They  pour'd  each  hardy  tenant  down. 
Nor  slack'd  the  messenger  his  pace  ; 
He  show'd  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 


I  [MS. — "  Dread  messenger  of  fate  and  fear,  | 
Herald  of  danger,  fate,  and  fear,        I 
Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career  1 
Thou  track'st  not  now  the  stricken  doe, 
Nor  maiden  coy  through  greenwood  bough.**! 


128  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CAKTO  in 

And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wind. 
Left  clamour  and  surprise  behind.^ 
The  fisherman  forsook  the  strand, 
The  swarthy  smith  took  dirk  and  brand ; 
With  changed  cheer,  the  mower  blithe 
Left  in  the  half-cut  swathe  the  scythe  ; 
The  herds  without  a*  keeper  stray'd, 
The  plough  was  in  mid-furrow  staid. 
The  falc'ner  toss'd  his  hawk  away, 
The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay ; 
Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms. 
Each  son  of  Alpine  rush'd  to  arms ; 
So  swept  the  tumult  and  affray 
Along  the  margin  of  Achray. 
Alas,  thou  lovely  lake !  that  e'er 
Thy  banks  should  echo  sounds  of  fear ! 
The  rocks,  the  bosky  thickets,  sleep 
So  stilly  on  thy  bosom  deep. 
The  lai-k's  blithe  carol,  from  the  cloud, 
Seems  for  the  scene  too  gayly  loud.'* 

XV. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  lake  is  past, 
Duncraggan's  huts  appear  at  last. 


i  l"  The  description  of  the  starting  of  the '  fiery  cross '  bean 
more  marks  of  labour  than  most  of  Mr.  Scott's  poetry,  and 
borders,  perhaps,  upon  straining  and  exaggeration:  yet  it 
shows  great  power." — Jeffrey.] 

«  [MS.—"  Seems  all  too  Ikely  and  too  loud.'*} 


CANTO  in.]  THE    GATHERING.  129 

And  peep,  like  moss-grown  rocks,  half  seen, 
Half  hidden  in  the  copse  so  green ; 
There  majest  thou  rest,  thy  labour  done. 
Their  Lord  shall  speed  the  signal  on. — 
As  stoops  the  hawk  upon  his  prey, 
The  henchman  shot  him  down  the  way. 
— What  woeful  accents  toad  the  gale  ? 
The  funeral  yell,  the  female  wail !  * 
A  gallant  hunter's  sport  is  o'er, 
A  valiant  warrior  fights  no  more. 
Who,  in  the  battle  or  the  chase. 
At  Roderick's  side  shall  fill  his  place  I — 
Within  the  hall,  where  torches'  ray 
Supplies  the  excluded  beams  of  day, 
Lies  Duncan  on  his  lowly  bier, 
Ajid  o'er  liim  streams  his  widow's  tear. 
His  stripHng  son  stands  mournful  by, 
His  youngest  weeps,  but  knows  not  why ! 
The  village  maids  and  matrons  round 
The  dismal  c^ionach  resound.^     i^ 


1  [MS. — "'Tis  woman's  scream,  'tis  childhood's  wail."] 
4  The  Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  like  the  Ulalalia  of  the 
Boranns  and  the  Ululoo  of  the  Irish,  was  a  wild  expression  of 
lamentation,  poured  forth  by  the  monmers  over  the  body  of  a 
departed  friend.  When  the  words  of  it  were  articulate,  they 
expressed  the  praises  of  the  deceased,  and  the  loss  the  clan 
would  sustain  by  his  death.  The  following  is  a  lamentation 
of  this  kind,  literally  translated  from  the  Gaelic,  to  some  of 
the  ideas  of  which  the  text  stands  indebted.  The  tune  is  so 
Dopultir,  that  it  has  since  become  the  war-marcb,  or  Gather- 
ug  of  the  clan. 

9 


130  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.      fCAUTO  m. 

XVI. 

CORONACH. 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest, 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain. 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest 


Coronach  on  Sir  Lavchlan,  Chief  of  Maclean. 

"  Which  of  all  the  Senachies 

Can  trace  thy  line  from  the  root  up  to  Paradise, 

But  Macvuirih,  the  son  of  Fergus? 

No  sooner  had  thine  ancient  stately  tree 

Taken  firm  root  in  Albion, 

Than  one  of  thy  forefathers  fell  at  Harlaw. — 

'Twas  then  we  lost  a  chief  of  deathless  name. 

"  'Tis  no  base  weed — no  planted  tree, 

Nor  a  seedling  of  last  Autumn : 

Nor  a  sapling  planted  at  Beltain;  i 

Wide,  wide  around  were  spread  its  lofty  branches — 

But  the  topmost  bough  is  lowly  laid! 

Thou  hast  forsaken  us  before  Sawaiue.2 

"  Thy  dwelling  is  the  winter  house; — 
Loud,  sad,  sad,  and  mighty  is  thy  death-song! 
Oh !  courteous  champion  of  Montrose ! 
Oh !  stately  warrior  of  the  Celtic  Isles ! 
Thou  shalt  buckle  thj'  harness  on  no  more!  " 

The  coronach  has  for  some  years  past  been  superseded  at 
funerals  by  the  use  of  the  bagpipe ;  and  that  also  is,  like 
many  other  Highland  peculiarities,  falling  into  disuse,  unlesj 
in  I'emote  districts. 

1  Bell's  fire,  or  Whitsunday. 

«  Hallowe'en. 


OASTO  m.)  THE    GATHF.TJTNG.  131 

The  font,  reappearing, 

From  tlie  rain-drops  shall  borrow, 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 

To  Duncan  no  morrow  ! 
The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoarj, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Wails  manhood  in  glory. 
The  autumn  winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest, 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing, 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi,^ 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber, 
Red  hand  in  the  foray, 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber  I 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain, 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river. 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain. 

Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever! * 

1  Or  corri.  The  hollow  side  of  the  hill,  where  game  usually 
lies. 

2  ["  Mr.  Scott  is  such  a  master  of  versification,  that  the 
most  complicated  metre  does  not,  for  an  instant,  arrest  the 
progress  of  his  imagination;  its  difficulties  usually  operate 
43  a  salutary  excitement  to  his  attention,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  suggest  to  him  new  and  unexpected  graces  of  ex- 
pression. If  a  careless  rhyme  or  an  ill-constructed  phrasa 
j>ccasionally  escape  him  amidst  the  irregular  torrent  of  his 
Btanza,  the  blemish  is  often  imperceptible  by  the  hurried  eye 
«f  the  reader;  but  when  the  short  lines  are  yoked  in  oairs, 


132  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     CANTO  III.] 

XVII. 

See  Siumab,^  who,  the  bier  beside, 
His  master's  corpse  with  wonder  eyed, 
Poor  Stuniah  !  whom  his  least  halloo 
Could  send  like  lightning  o'er  the  dew, 
Bristles  his  crest,  and  points  his  ears. 
As  if  some  stranger  step  he  hears. 
'Tis  not  a  mourner's  muffled  tread, 
Who  comes  to  sorrow  o'er  the  dead, 
But  headlong  haste,  or  deadly  fear. 
Urge  the  precipitate  career. 
All  stand  aghast : — unheeding  all, 
The  henchman  bursts  into  the  hall ; 
Before  the  dead  man's  bier  he  stood  ; 
Held  forth  the  Cross  besmear'd  with  blood ; 
"  The  muster  place  is  Lanrick  mead  ; 
Speed  forth  the  signal !  clansmen,  speed !  ** 

XVIII. 

Angus,  the  heir  of  Duncan's  line,^ 
Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign. 

any  dissonance  in  the  jingle,  or  interruption  of  the  construc- 
tion, cannot  fail  to  give  offence.  We  learn  from  Horace,  that 
in  the  course  of  a  long  work,  a  poet  may  legitimately  indulge 
in  a  momentary  slumber;  but  we  do  not  wish  to  bear  him 
Rnore." — Quarterly  Review.'] 

1  Faithful.     The  name  of  a  dog. 

2  [MS. — "  Angus,  XhQjirsi  of  Duncan's  line, 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign, 

And  then  upon  his  kinsman's  bier 

Fell  Malise's  suspended  tear. 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  his  side 

His  father's  targe  and  falchion  tied."] 


CAKTO  m.J  THE    GATHERING.  133 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  his  side 

His  fiither's  dirk  and  broadsword  tied ; 

But  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye 

Watch  him  in  speechless  agony, 

Back  to  her  open'd  arms  he  flew, 

Press'd  on  her  lips  a  fond  adieu — 

"  Alas  !  "  she  sobb'd, — "  and  yet,  be  gone. 

And  speed  thee  forth,  hke  Duncan's  son  !" 

One  look  he  cast  upon  the  bier, 

Dash'd  from  his  eye  the  gathering  tear. 

Breathed  deep  to  clear  his  labouring  breast, 

And  toss'd  aloft  his  bonnet  crest. 

Then,  like  the  high-bred  colt,  when,  freed, 

First  he  essays  his  fire  and  speed. 

He  vanish'd,  and  o'er  moor  and  moss 

Sped  forward  with  the  Fiery  Cross. 

Suspended  was  the  widow's  tear. 

While  yet  his  footsteps  she  could  hear ; 

And  when  she  mark'd  the  henchman's  eye 

Wet  with  unwonted  sympathy, 

"  Kinsman,"  she  said,  "  his  race  is  run, 

That  should  have  sped  thine  errand  on  ; 

The  oak  has  fall'n — the  sapling  bough 

Is  all  Duncraggan's  shelter  now. 

Yet  trust  I  well,  his  duty  done, 

The  orphan's  God  ^^^ll  guard  my  son — 

And  you,  in  many  a  danger  true, 

At  Duni^an's  best  your  blades  that  drew, 

To  arms,  and  guard  that  orphan's  head  ! 

Let  babes  and  women  wail  the  dead." 


134  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CAOTO  m 

Then  weapon-clang,  and  martial  call, 
Resounded  through  the  funeral  hall. 
While  from  the  walls  the  attendant  band 
Snatch'd  sword  and  targe,  with  hurried  hand ; 
And  short  and  flitting  energy- 
Glanced  from  the  mourner's  sunken  eye, 
As  if  the  sounds  to  warrior  dear 
Might  rouse  her  Duncan  from  his  bier. 
But  faded  soon  that  borrow'd  force ; 
Grief  claim'd  his  right,  and  tears  their  course. 

XIX. 

Benledi  saw  the  Cross  of  Fire, 
It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire.^ 
O'er  dale  and  hill  the  summons  flew. 
Nor  rest  nor  pause  young  Angus  knew  ; 
The  tear  that  gather'd  in  his  eye 
He  left  the  mountain  breeze  to  dry ; 
Until,  where  Teith's  young  waters  roll, 

1  Inspection  of  the   provincial  map  of  Perthshire,  or  any 
large  map  of  Scotland,  will  trace  the  progress  of  the  signal 
through  the  small  districts  of  lakes  and  mountains,  which, 
in  exercise  of  my  poetical  privilege,  I  have  subjected  to  the 
authority  of  my  imaginary  chieftain,  and  which,  at   the  pe- 
riod of  my  romance,  was  really  occupied  by  a  clan  who 
claimed  a  descent  from  Alpine;  a  clan  the  most  unfortunate 
and  most  persecuted,  but  neither  the   least  distinguisheci. 
east  powoiful,  nor  least  brave  of  the  tribes  of  the  Gael. 
"  Slioch  non  rioghridh  duchaisach 
Bha-shios  an  Duu-Staiobhinish 
Aig  an  roubh  crun  na  Halba  othu8 
'Stag  a  cheil  duchas  fast  ris." 


CASTO  m.]  THE    GATHEKIXG.  135 

Betwixt  hira  and  a  wooded  knoU,^ 
That  graced  the  sable  strath  with  green. 
The  chapel  of  St.  Bride  was  seen. 
Swoln  was  the  stream,  remote  the  bridge, 
But  Angus  paused  not  on  the  edge  ; 
Though  the  dark  waves  danced  dizzily, 
Though  reel'd  his  sympathetic  eye. 
He  dash'd  amid  the  torrent's  roar  : 
His  right  hand  high  the  crosslet  bore, 
His  left  the  pole-axe  gi-asp'd,  to  guide 
And  stay  his  footing  in  the  tide. 
He  stumbled  tAvice — the  foam  splash'd  high, 
With  hoarser  swell  the  stream  raced  by ; 
And  had  he  fall'n, — for  ever  there. 
Farewell  Duncraggan's  orphan  heir ! 
But  still,  as  if  in  parting  life, 
Fii-mer  he  gra-p'd  the  Cross  of  strife. 
Until  the  opposing  bank  he  gain'd, 
And  up  the  chapel  pathway  strain'd. 

The  first  stage  of  the  Fiery  Cross  is  to  Duncraggan,  a  plac« 
near  the  Brigg  of  Turk,  where  a  ^hort  stream  divides  Loch 
A/sbray  from  Loch  Vennachar.  From  thence  it  passes  to- 
wards Callander,  and  then  turning  to  the  left  up  the  pass  of 
Leny,  is  consigned  to  Norman  at  the  chapel  of  Saint  Bride, 
which  stood  on  a  small  and  romantic  knoll  in  the  middle  of 
the  valley,  called  Strath-Ire.  Tombea  and  Amandave,  or  Ard- 
tnandave,  are  names  of  places  in  the  vicinity.  The  alarm  is 
then  supposed  to  pass  along  the  lake  of  Lubnaig,  and  through 
the  various  glens  in  the  district  of  Balquidder,  including 
the  neighbouring  tracts  of  Glenfinlas  and  Strathgartney. 

*  [^MS. — "  And  tchere  a  steep  and  wooded  knoll 

Graced  the  dark  strath  with  emerald  green."} 


136  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CAVTO  HI 

XX. 

A  blithesome  rout,  that  morning  tide, 
Had  sought  the  chapel  of  St.  Bride. 
Her  troth  Tombea's  Mary  gave 
To  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
And,  issuing  from  the  Gothic  arch, 
The  bridal  now  resumed  their  march. 
In  rude,  but  glad  procession,  came 
Bonneted  sire  and  coif-clad  dame  ; 
And  plaided  youth,  with  jest  and  jeer, 
"Which  snooded  maiden  would  not  hear ; 
And  children,  that,  unwitting  why, 
Lent  the  gay  shout  their  shrilly  cry  ; 
And  minstrels,  that  in  measures  vied 
Before  the  young  and  bonny  bride, 
Whose  downcast  eye  and  cheek  disclose 
The  tear  and  blush  of  morning  rose. 
With  virgin  step,  and  bashful  hand. 
She  held  the  'kerchief's  snowy  band ; 
The  gallant  bridegroom  by  her  side, 
Beheld  his  prize  with  victor's  pride, 
And  the  glad  mother  in  her  ear 
Was  closely  whispering  word  of  cheer. 

XXI. 

WTio  meets  them  at  the  churchyard  gate  ? 
The  messenger  of  fear  and  fate  ! 
Haste  in  his  hurried  accent  lies. 
And  grief  is  swimming  in  his  eyes. 
AH  dripping  from  the  recent  flood, 


OAaTOra-J  THE    GATHEKCfG.  137 

Panting  and  travel-soird  he  stood, 

The  fatal  sign  of  fire  and  sword 

Held  forth,  and  spoke  the  appointed  word : 

**  The  niuster-place  is  Lanrick  mead  ; 

Speed  forth  the  signal !  xSorman,  speed ! " 

And  must  he  change  so  soon  the  hand,* 

Just  link'd  to  his  by  holy  band, 

For  the  fell  Cross  of  blood  and  brand  ? 

And  must  the  day,  so  blithe  that  rose. 

And  promised  rapture  in  the  close, 

Before  its  setting  hour,  divide 

The  bridegi'oom  from  the  plighted  bride  ? 

O  fatal  doom  I — it  must !  it  must ! 

Clan-Alpine's  cause,  her  Chieftain's  trust, 

Her  summons  dread,  brook  no  delay ; 

Stretch  to  the  race — away !  away ! 

xxn. 
Yet  slow  he  laid  his  plaid  aside, 
And,  lingering,  eyed  his  lovely  bride. 
Until  he  saw  the  starting  tear 
Speak  woe  he  might  not  stop  to  cheer ; 
Then,  trusting  not  a  second  look. 
In  haste  he  sped  him  up  the  brook, 
Kor  backward  glanced,  till  on  the  heath 
Where  Lubnaig's  lake  supplies  the  Teith. 
— What  in  the  racer's  bosom  stirr'd  ? 
The  sickening  pang  of  hope  deferred, 

1  [MS. — "  And  must  he  then  exchange  the  hand.'  ) 


138  THE   LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       [CAOTO  m. 

And  memory,  with  a  torturing  train  ^ 

Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain. 

Mingled  with  love's  impatience,  came 

The  manly  thirst  for  martial  fame; 

The  stormy  joy  of  mountaineers, 

Ere  yet  they  rush  upon  the  spears ; 

And  zeal  for  Clan  and  Chieftain  burning, 

And  hope,  from  well-fought  field  returning, 

With  war's  red  honours  on  his  crest. 

To  clasp  his  Mary  to  his  breast. 

Stung  by  such  thoughts,  o'er  bank  and  brae, 

Like  fire  from  flint  he  glanced  away, 

While  high  resolve,  and  feeling  strong. 

Burst  into  voluntary  song. 

XXIII. 

SOXG. 

The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed. 
The  bracken  ^  curtain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread. 

Far,  far,  from  love  and  thee,  Mary  : 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid. 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid, 
My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  maid ! 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary ! 

1  [MS.—"  And  memon,-  brought  the  torturing  train 
Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain; 
But  mingled  with  impatience  came 
The  manly  love  of  martial  fame."] 

«  Bracken. — Fern. 


CUXTOm.]  THE    GATHERING.  139 

I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now  ^ 

The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow, 

I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow, 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 
No  fond  regi'et  must  Norman  know ; 
When  bursts  Clan-Alpme  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  !Mary. 

A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught. 
For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought, 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary.* 
And  if  retum'd  from  conquer'd  foes, 
How  bhthely  will  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  hnnet  sing  repose, 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary ' 

XXIV. 

Not  faster  o*er  thy  heathery  braes, 
Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze,' 

1  pis. — '^  I  may  not,  dare  not,  image  now."] 
•  [MS. — "  A  time  will  come  for  love  and  faith. 

For  should  thy  bridegroom  yield  his  hi  j«.th, 
'Twill  cheer  him  in  the  hour  of  death. 
The  boasted  right  to  thee,  Mary."] 
»  It  may  be  necessarj*  to  inform  the  southern  reader,  that 
the  heath  on  the  Scottish  moorlands  is  often  set  fire  to,  that 
the  sheep  may  have  the  advantage  of  tlie  young  herbage 
Dralaced,  in  room  of  the  tough  old  heather  plants.    Thia 
cxLstom  (exeorated  by  sportsmen)  produces  occa-ic-ially  the 


140  THE   LADY   OP   THE   LAKE,     f CANTO  m 

Rusliing,  in  conflagration  strong, 
Thy  deep  ravines  and  dells  along, 
Wrapping  thy  cliffs  in  purple  glow. 
And  reddening  the  dark  lakes  below ; 
Nor  faster  speeds  it,  nor  so  far. 
As  o'er  thy  heaths  the  voice  of  war.* 
The  signal  roused  to  martial  coil 
The  sullen  margin  of  Loch  Voil. 
Waked  still  Loch  Doine,  and  to  the  source 
Alarra'd,  Balvaig,  thy  swampy  course ; 
Thence  southward  turn'd  its  rapid  road 
Adown  Strath- Gartney's  valley  broad. 
Till  rose  in  arms  each  man  might  claim 
A  portion  in  Clan-Alpine's  name, 
From  the  gray  sire,  whose  trembhng  hand 
Could  hardly  buckle  on  his  brand, 
To  the  raw  boy,  whose  shaft  and  bow 
Were  yet  scarce  terror  to  the  crow. 
Each  valley,  each  sequester'd  glen, 
Muster'd  its  httle  horde  of  men. 
That  met  as  torrents  from  the  height 
In  Highland  dales  their  streams  unite, 
Still  gathering,  as  they  pour  along, 
A  voice  more  loud,  a  tide  more  strong, 

nost  beautiful  nocturnal  appearances,  similar  almost  to  the 
discharge  of  a  volcano.  This  simile  is  not  new  to  poetry. 
The  charge  of  a  warrior,  in  the  fine  ballad  of  Hardyknute,  is 
Baid  to  be  "like  fire  to  heather  set." 

1  ["The  eager  fidelity  with  which  this  fatal  signal  is  hur- 
ried on  and  obeyed,  is  represented  with  great  spirit  an(! 
felicity." — Jeffkky.] 


CAHTom.]  THE    GATHERING.  141 

Till  at  the  rendezvous  they  stood 

By  hundreds  prompt  for  blows  and  blood ; 

Each  train'd  to  arms  since  life  begran, 

Owning  no  tie  but  to  his  clan, 

No  oath,  but  by  his  chieftain's  hand. 

No  law,  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command.^ 

XXV. 

That  summer  mom  had  Roderick  Dhu 
Surveyed  the  skirts  of  Benvenue, 
And  sent  his  scouts  o'er  hill  and  heath, 
To  view  the  frontiers  of  Menteith. 
All  backward  came  with  news  of  truce  ; 
Still  lay  each  martial  Graeme  and  Bruce, 
In  Rednoch  courts  no  horsemen  wait, 
No  banner  waved  on  Cardross  gate, 
On  Duchray^s  towers  no  beacon  shone, 
Nor  scared  the  herons  from  Loch  Con  ; 
All  seem'd  at  peace. — Now,  wot  ye  why 
The  Chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye, 

1  The  deep  and  implicit  respect  paid  by  the  Highland  clans- 
men to  their  chief,  rendered  this  both  a  common  and  a  solemn 
oath.  In  other  respects  they  were  like  most  savage  nations, 
capricious  in  their  ideas  concerning  the  obligatory  power  of 
oaths.  One  solemn  mode  of  swearing  was  by  kissing  the 
(feVt,  imprecating  upon  themselves  death  by  that,  or  a  similar 
weapon,  if  they  broke  their  vow.  But  for  oaths  in  the  usual 
form,  they  are  said  to  have  paid  little  respect.  As  for  the 
reverence  due  to  the  chief,  it  may  be  guessed  from  the  follow- 
ing odd  example  of  a  Highland  point  of  honour: — 

"  The  clan  whereto  the  above-mentioned  tribe  belongs,  is 
the  only  one  I  have  heard  of,  which  is  without  a  chief:  tliat 


142  THE    LADY    OP   THE    LAKE.      [CAXTO  in. 

Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair, 
This  western  frontier  scann'd  with  care  ? — 
In  Benvenue's  most  darksome  cleft, 
A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  was  left ; 
For  Douglas,  to  his  promise  true, 
That  morning  from  the  isle  withdrew, 
And  in  a  deep  sequester'd  dell 
Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 
By  many  a  bai-d,  in  Celtic  tongue, 
-^     Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin  been  sung  :  * 

IS,  being  divided  into  families,  under  several  chieftains,  with- 
out any  particular  patriarch  of  the  whole  name.  And  this  is 
a  great  reproach,  as  may  appear  from  an  afifair  that  fell  out  at 
my  table,  in  the  Highlands,  between  one  of  that  name  and  a 
Cameron.  The  provocation  given  by  the  latter  was — 'Name 
your  chief.' — The  return  of  it  at  once  was, — '  You  are  a  fool.* 
They  went  out  next  morning,  but  having  early  notice  of  it,  I 
sent  a  small  party  of  soldiers  after  them,  which,  in  all  proba- 
bility, prevented  some  barbarous  mischief  that  might  have 
ensued:  for  the  chiefless  Highlander,  who  is  himself  a  petty 
chieftain,  was  going  to  the  place  appointed  with  a  small- 
sword and  pistol,  whereas  the  Cameron  (an  old  man)  took 
with  him  only  his  broadsword,  according  to  the  agreement. 

"  When  all  was  over,  and  I  had,  at  least  seemingly,  recon- 
ciled them,  1  was  told  the  words,  of  which  I  seemed  to  think 
but  slightly,  were,  to  one  of  the  clan,  the  greatest  of  all  pro-' 
vocations." — Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  22L 

1  This  is  a  very  steep  and  most  romantic  hollow  in  the 
mountain  of  Benvcnue,  overhanging  the  southeastern  ex- 
tremity of  Loch  Katrine.  It  is  surrounded  with  stupendous 
rojks,  and  overshadowed  with  birch  trees,  mingled  with  oaks, 
the  spontaneous  production  of  the  mountain,  even  where  its 
cliflfs  appear  denuded  of  soil.  A  dale  in  so  wild  a  situation, 
»nd  amid  a  people  whose  genius  bordered  on  the  romantic 


CAKTOIU.]  THE    GATHERING.  143 

A  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave, 
And  call'd  the  grot  the  Goblin-cave. 


iid  not  remain  without  appropriate  deities.  The  name  liter- 
ally implies  the  Corri,  or  Den,  of  the  Wild  or  Shaggy  men. 
Perhaps  this,  as  conjectured  by  Mr.  Alexander  Campbell,! 
may  have  originally  only  implied  its  being  the  haunt  of  a 
ferocious  banditti.  T.ut  tradition  has  ascribed  to  the  LiHsk, 
who  gives  name  to  the  cavern,  a  figure  between  a  goat  and  a 
man:  in  short,  however  much  the  classical  reader  maybe 
startled,  precisely  that  of  the  Grecian  Satyr.  The  Urisk 
seems  not  to  have  inherited,  with  the  form,  the  petulance  of 
the  sylvan  deity  of  the  classics :  his  occupation,  on  the  con- 
trary, resembled  those  of  Milton's  Lubber  Kiend,  or  of  the 
Scottish  Brownie,  though  he  diflered  from  both  in  name  and 
appearance.  "  The  Ui-isks,''*  says  Dr.  Graham,  "  were  a  set 
o*"  lubberly  supematurals,  who,  like  the  Brownies,  could  be 
gained  over,  by  kind  attention,  to  perform  the  drudgery  of 
Ihe  farm,  and  it  was  believed  that  many  of  the  families  in 
the  Highlands  had  one  of  the  order  attached  to  it.  They 
were  supposed  to  be  dispersed  over  the  Highlands,  each  in 
his  own  wild  recess,  but  the  solemn  stated  meetings  of  the 
order  were  regularly  held  m  this  Cave  of  Ben  venue.  This 
current  superstition,  no  doubt,  alludes  to  some  circumstance 
in  the  ancient  history  of  this  country." — Scenery  on  ihe 
Southern  Confines  of  Perthshire,  p.  19,  1806.  It  must  be 
iwned  that  the  Coir,  or  Den,  does  not,  in  its  present  state, 
meet  our  ideas  of  a  subterraneous  grotto,  or  cave,  being  only 
a  small  and  narrow  cavity,  among  huge  fragments  of  rocks 
rudely  piled  together.  But  such  a  scene  is  liable  to  convul- 
sions of  nature  which  a  Lowbiuder  cannot  estimate,  and 
which  may  have  choked  up  what  was  originally  a  cavern. 
At  least  the  name  and  tradition  wan-ant  the  autiior  of  a  fic- 
tit'ous  tale,  to  assert  its  having  been  such  at  the  remote 
peiiod  in  which  this  scene  is  laid. 

I  Journey  from  Edinburgh,  1802,  p.  109. 


144  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.      [CA>TO  iTt 

XXVT. 

It  was  a  wild  and  strange  retreat, 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell  upon  the  mountain's  crest, 
Yawn'd  like  a  gash  on  wamor's  breast ; 
Its  trench  had  staid  full  many  a  rock, 
Ilurl'd  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Benvenue*s  gray  summit  wild, 
And  here,  in  random  ruin  piled, 
They  frown'd  incumbent  o'er  the  spot, 
And  form'd  the  rugged  sylvan  grot.* 
The  oak  and  birch,  with  mingled  shade, 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made, 
Unless  when  short  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone, 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 
Gains  on  thy  depth,  Futurity. 
No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still. 
Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill ; 

'  ["  After  landing  on  the  skirts  of  Benvenue,  we  reach  the 
cave  (or  more  properly  the  cove)  of  the  goblins,  by  a  steep  and 
narrow  defile  of  a  few  hundred  yards  in  length.  It  is  a  deep 
circular  amphitheatre  of  at  least  GOO  yards  of  extent  in  its 
uppsr  diameter,  gradually  narrowing  towards  the  base,  hem- 
med in  all  round  by  steep  and  towering  rocks,  and  rendered 
impenetrable  to  the  ra3's  of  the  sun  by  a  close  covert  of 
luxuriant  trees.  On  the  south  and  west  it  is  bounded  by  tho 
precipitous  shoulder  of  Benvenue,  to  the  height  of  at  least 
600  feet;  towards  the  east,  the  rock  appears  at  some  former 
period  to  have  tumbled  down,  strewing  the  whole  course  of 
its  fall  with  immense  fragments,  which  now  serve  only  to 
jjive  shelter  to  foxes,  wild-cats,  and  badgers." — Dr.GRAHAM. 


CANTO  m.]  THE    GATHERING.  145 

But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake, 
A  sullen  sound  would  upwai'd  break, 
With  dashing  hollow  voice  that  spoke 
The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 
Suspended  cliffs,  with  hideous  sway, 
Seera'd  nodding  o'er  the  cavern  gray. 
From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung, 
In  such  the  wild- cat  leaves  her  young  ; 

CYet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair 
Sought  for  a  space  their  safety  there. 
Gray  Superstition's  whisper  di'ead 
Debarr'd  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread ; 
For  there,  she  said,  did  fays  resort, 
And  satyrs  ^  hold  their  sylvan  court. 
By  moonhght  tread  their  mystic  maze. 
And  blast  the  rash  beholder's  gaze. 

xxvii. 
Now  eve,  vnth  western  shadows  long. 
Floated  on  Katrine  bright  and  strong, 
When  Roderick,  with  a  chosen  few, 
Repass'd  the  heights  of  Benvenue. 
Above  the  Goblin-cave  they  go, 
Through  the  wild  pass  of  Bcal-nam-bo  ;  * 

1  "1  he  Urisk,  or  Highland  satyr.     See  a  previous  Note. 

2  Bealuch-nam-bo,  or  the  pass  of  cattle,  is  a  most  mng- 
OiScent  glade,  overhung  with  aged  birch-trees,  a  little  higher 
»p  the  mountain  than  the  Coir-nan-Uriskin,  treated  of  in  a 
former  note.  The  whole  composes  the  most  sublime  piece  of 
vienery  that  imagination  can  conceive. 

10 


146  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CAXTO  in. 

The  prompt  retainers  speed  before, 
To  launch  the  shallop  from  the  shore, 
For  cross  Loch  Katrine  lies  his  way 
To  view  the  passes  of  Achray, 
And  place  his  clansman  in  array. 
Yet  lags  the  chief  in  musing  mind, 
Unwonted  sight,  his  men  behind, 
A  single  page  to  bear  his  sword. 
Alone  attended  on  his  lord ;  ^ 


1  A  Highland  chief,  being  as  absolute  in  his  patriarchal 
authority  as  any  prince,  had  a  corresponding  number  of 
officers  attached  to  his  person.  He  had  his  body-guards, 
called  Lukhttach,  picked  from  his  clan  for  strength,  activity, 
and  entire  devotion  to  his  person.  These,  according  to  their 
deserts,  were  sure  to  share  abundantly  in  the  rude  profusion 
of  his  hospitality.  It  is  recorded,  for  example,  by  tradition, 
that  Allan  MacLean,  chief  of  that  clan,  happened  upon  a 
time  to  hear  one  of  these  favourite  retainers  observe  to  his 
comrade,  that  their  chief  gi-ew  old. — "  Whence  do  you  infei 
that?  "  replied  the  other. — "  VV'hen  was  it,"  rejoined  the  first, 
"  that  a  soldier  of  Allan's  was  obliged,  as  I  am  now,  not  only 
to  eat  the  flesh  from  the  bone,  but  even  to  tear  oflf  the  inner 
skin,  or  filament?  "  The  hint  was  quite  sufficient,  and  Mac- 
Lean  next  morning,  to  relieve  his  followers  from  such  dire 
necessity,  undertook  an  inroad  on  the  mainland,  the  ravage 
of  which  altogether  efi'aced  the  memory  of  his  former  expe- 
ditions for  the  like  purpose. 

Our  officer  of  Engineers,  so  often  quoted,  has  given  us  a 
distinct  list  of  the  domestic  officers  who,  independent  of 
^Michttach,  or  gardes  de  coi-ps,  belonged  to  the  cstabiishment 
of  a  Highland  Chief.  These  are,  1.  The  Ilendiman.  See 
these  notes,  p.  104.  2.  The  Bard.  See  p.  63.  3.  Bladier, 
or  spokesman.  4.  Gillie-more,  or  sword-bearer,  alluded  to  in 
the  text.  5.  Gillie-casflue,  who  carried  the  chief,  if  on  foot, 
ever  the  fords.    6.  GiUie-comstrainCj  who  leads  the  chiefi 


RANTO  in.]  THE    GATHERING.  147 

The  rest  their  way  through  thickets  break, 

And  soon  await  him  by  the  lake. 

It  was  a  fair  and  gallant  sight, 

To  view  them  from  the  neighbouring  height, 

By  the  low-levell'd  sunbeam's  light ! 

For  strength  and  stature,  from  the  clan 

Each  warrior  was  a  chosen  man, 

As  even  afar  might  well  be  seen, 

By  their  proud  step  and  martial  mien. 

Then-  feathers  dance,  their  tartans  float, 

Their  targets  gleam,  as  by  the  boat 

A  wild  and  warhke  group  they  stand. 

That  well  became  such  mountain-strand. 

XXVIII. 

Their  Chief,  with  step  reluctant,  still 
Was  hngering  on  the  craggy  hill. 
Hard  by  where  turn'd  apart  the  road 
To  Douglas's  obscure  abode. 
It  was  but  with  that  dawning  morn. 
That  Roderick  Dhu  had  proudly  sworn 

horse.  7.  Gillie- Trushanarinsh,  the  baggage  man.  8.  The 
piper.  9.  TTie  piper's  gillie,  or  attendant,  who  carries  the 
bagpipe.'  Although  this  appeared,  naturally  enough,  very 
ridiculous  to  an  English  officer,  who  considered  the  master 
of  such  a  retinue  as  no  more  than  an  English  gentleman  of 
jC600  a-year.  yet  in  the  circumstances  of  the  chief,  wnose 
Strength  and  importance  consisted  in  the  number  and  attach 
ment  of  his  followers,  it  was  of  the  last  consequence,  in  point 
ttf  policy,  to  have  in  his  gift  subordinate  offices,  which  called 

I  Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  15. 


148  THE    LADY    OP    THE   LAKE.      [CANTO  in. 

To  drown  his  love  in  war's  wild  roar/ 
Nor  think  of  Ellen  Douglas  more ; 
But  he  who  stems  a  stream  with  sand, 
And  fetters  flame  with  flaxen  band, 
Has  yet  a  harder  task  to  prove — 
By  firm  resolve  to  conquer  love  ! 
Eve  finds  the  Chief  hke  restless  ghost, 
Still  hovering  near  his  treasure  lost ; 
For  though  his  haughty  heart  deny 
A  parting  meeting  to  his  eye, 
Still  fondly  strains  his  anxious  ear. 
The  accents  of  her  voice  to  hear. 
And  inly  did  he  curse  the  breeze 
That  waked  to  sound  the  rustling  trees. 
But  hark  !  what  mingles  in  the  strain  ? 
It  is  the  harp  of  Allan-bane, 
That  wakes  its  measures  slow  and  high, 
Attuned  to  sacred  minstrelsy. 
What  melting  voice  attends  the  strings  ? 
*Tis  Ellen,  or  an  angel,  sings. 

XXIX. 
HYMS  TO  THE  VIBGIK. 

Ave  Maria  !  maiden  mild ! 
Listen  to  a  maiden's  prayer ! 

Immodiately  round  his  person  those  who  were  most  devoted 
ko  hiu],  anJ,  being  of  value  in  their  estimation,  were  also  the 
means  of  rewarding  them. 
1  [MS. — "  To  drown  his  grief  in  war's  wild  roar, 
Nor  thinli  of  hve  and  EUen  more." 


CANTO  m  J  THE    GATHERING.  ^^ 

Thou  canst  hear  though  from  the  wild, 

Thou  canst  save  amid  despah". 
Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  thy  care, 

Though  banlsh'd,  outcast,  and  revUed— 
Maiden  !  1:  ear  a  maiden's  prayer; 

Mother,  hear  a  suppliant  child ! 

Ave  Maria  I 

Ave  Maria!  undefiledl  ^ 

The  flinty  couch  we  now  must  share 
Shall  seem  with  down  of  eider  piled, 

If  thy  protection  hover  there. 
The  murky  cavern's  heavy  air^ 

Shall  breathe  of  bahn  if  thou  hast  smiled ; 
Then,  Maiden !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer, 

Mother,  list  a  supphant  child!  ^ 

Ave  Maria  ' 

Ave  Maria  I  stainless  styled  ! 

Foul  demons  of  the  earth  and  air. 
From  this  their  wonted  haunt  exiled, 

Shall  flee  before  thy  presence  fair. 
We  bow  us  to  our  lot  of  care, 

Beneath  thy  guidance  reconciled ; 
Hear  for  a  maid  a  maiden's  prayer. 

And  for  a  father  hear  a  child !  ^ 

Ave  Maria ! 

I  [MS.—"  The  flinty  couch  my  sire  must  share."  1 
I  [MS.—"  The  murky  groUo's  ncxiout  air."  1 


150  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     [cANTO  ni 

XXX. 

Died  on  the  harp  the  closing  hymn — 
Unmoved  in  attitude  and  limb, 
As  list'ning  still,  Clan- Alpine's  lord 
Stood  leaning  on  his  heavy  sword. 
Until  the  page,  with  humble  sign. 
Twice  pointed  to  the  sun's  decline. 
Then  while  his  plaid  he  round  him  cast, 
''  It  is  the  last  time — 'tis  the  last," 
He  mutter'd  thrice, — "  the  last  time  e'er 
That  angel-voice  shall  Roderick  hear  !  " 
It  was  a  goading  thought — his  stride 
Hied  hastier  down  the  mountain-side ; 
Sullen  he  flung  him  in  the  boat. 
And  instant  'cross  the  lake  it  shot. 
They  landed  in  that  silvery  bay, 
And  eastward  held  their  hasty  way, 
Till,  with  the  latest  beams  of  light. 
The  band  arrived  on  Lanrick  height, 
Where  muster'd  in  the  vale  below,' 
Clan-Alpine's  men  in  martial  show. 

XXXI. 

A  various  scene  the  clansmen  made. 
Some  sate,  some  stood,  some  slowly  stray'd  j 
But  most  with  mantles  folded  round. 
Were  couch'd  to  rest  upon  the  ground, 

'  [MS. — "  Where  broad  extending  far  below, 

Muster'd  Clan- Alpine's  martial  show.*'] 


CAJrro  m.]  THE    GATHERING.  151 

Scarce  to  be  known  by  curious  eye, 

From  the  deep  heather  where  they  lie, 

So  well  was  match'd  the  tartan  screen 

"With  heath-bell  dark  and  brackens  green  ; 

Unless  where,  here  and  there,  a  blade. 

Or  lance's  point,  a  glimmer  made, 

Like  glow-worm  twinkling  througli  the  shade. 

But  when,  advancing  through  the  gloom. 

They  saw  the  Chieftain's  eagle  plume. 

Their  shout  of  welcome,  shrill  and  wide, 

Shook  the  steep  mountain's  steady  side. 

Thrice  it  arose,  and  lake  and  fell 

Three  times  return'd  the  martial  yell ; 

It  died  upon  Bochastle's  plain. 

And  Silence  claimed  her  evening  reign. 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


CANTO    FOUKTH. 


THE   PR0PHEC7 


Ttn 


LADY  or  THE  LAKE. 

CANTO  FOUKTH. 


THE  PROPHECY. 

I. 

•*  The  rose  is  fairest  when  'tis  budding  new, 
And   hope   is   brightest  when  it   dawns  from 
fears ;  * 
The  rose  is  sweetest  wash'd  with  morning  dew, 
And  love  is  loveliest  when  embalm'd  in  tears. 
0  wilding  rose,  whom  fai^cy  thus  endears, 
I  bid  your  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave, 
Emblem  of  hope  and  love  through  future  years  !  ** 
Thus  spoke  young  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
What  time  the  sun  arose  on  Vennachar's  broad 
wave.. 

II. 
Such  fond  conceit,  half  said,  half  sung. 
Love  prompted  to  the  bridegroom's  tongue. 
*  IMS.— "And  rapture  dearest  when  obscured  by  fear*,"' 


156  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  IV. 

And  while  he  stripp'd  the  wild-rose  spray, 

His  axe  and  bow  beside  him  lay, 

For  on  a  pass  'twixt  lake  and  wood, 

A  wakeful  sentinel  he  stood. 

Hark ! — on  the  rock  a  footstep  rung, 

And  instant  to  his  arms  he  sprung, 

"  Stand,  or  thou  diest ! — What,  Malise  ? — soon 

Art  thou  return'd  from  Braes  of  Doune. 

By  thy  keen  step  and  glance  I  know. 

Thou  bring'st  us  tidings  of  the  foe." — 

(For  while  the  Fiery  Cross  hied  on. 

On  distant  scout  had  MaUse  gone.) 

"Where   sleeps    the    Chief?"   the   henchman 
said. — 
"  Apai't  in  yonder  misty  glade  ; 
To  his  lone  couch  I'll  be  your  guide." — 
Then  call'd  a  slumberer  by  his  side. 
And  stirr'd  him  with  his  slacken'd  bow — 
"  Up,  up,  Glentarkin  !  rouse  thee,  ho ! 
We  seek  the  Chieftain ;  on  the  track, 
Keep  eagle  watch  till  I  come  back." 

III. 
Together  up  the  pass  they  sped : 
"  What  of  the  foemen  ?  "  Norman  said. — 
**  Var^^ing  reports  from  near  and  far ;  - 
This  certain, — that  a  band  of  war 
Has  for  two  days  been  ready  boune, 
At  prompt  command,  to  march  from  Doune ; 
King  James,  the  while,  with  princely  powers, 


CAirro  IV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  157 

Holds  revelry  in  Stirling  towers. 

Soon  will  this  dark  and  gathering  cloud 

Speak  on  our  glens  in  thunder  loud. 

Inured  to  bide  such  bitter  bout, 

The  warrior's  plaid  may  bear  it  out ; 

But,  Norman,  how  wilt  thou  provide 

A  shelter  for  thy  bonny  bride  ?  " — 

*'What !  know  ye  not  that  Roderick's  care 

To  the  lone  isle  hath  caused  repair 

Each  maid  and  matron  of  the  clan, 

And  every  child  and  aged  man 

Unfit  for  arms ;  and  given  his  charge, 

Nor  skiff  nor  shallop,  boat  nor  barge, 

Upon  these  lakes  shall  float  at  lai-ge. 

But  all  beside  the  islet  moor. 

That  such  dear  pledge  may  rest  secure  ?  "— 

IV. 

"  'Tis  well  advised — the  Chieftain's  plan  * 

Bespeaks  the  father  of  his  clan. 

But  wherefore  sleeps  Sir  Roderick  Dhu 

Apart  from  all  his  followers  true  ?  " — 

"  It  is,  because  last  evening-tide 

Brian  an  auguiy  hath  tried. 

Of  that  dread  kind  which  must  not  be 

Unless  in  dread  extremity, 

The  Taghairm  call'd  ;  by  which  afar,         * 

*  [MB. — ''  'Tis  well  advised — a  prudent  pl&n, 
Worthy  the  father  of  his  chin."] 


158  THE    LADT    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CASTO  IV 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war.* 
Duncraggan's  milk-white  bull  they  slew." 

MALISE. 

"  Ah  !  well  the  gallant  brute  I  knew  ! 
The  choicest  of  the  prey  we  had, 
When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad.^ 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  I.] 

2  I  know  not  if  it  be  worth  observing,  that  this  passage  is 
taken  almost  literally  from  the  mouth  of  an  old  Highland 
Kern,  or  Ketreran,  as  they  were  called.  He  used  to  narrate 
the  meiTv  doings  of  the  good  old  time  when  he  was  follower 
of  Rob  Roy  MacGregor.  This  leader,  on  one  occasion, 
thought  proper  to  make  a  descent  upon  the  lower  part  of  the 
Loch  Lomond  district,  and  summoned  all  the  heritors  and 
fanners  to  meet  at  the  Kirk  of  Drymen,  to  pay  him  black- 
mail, i.  e.  tribute  for  forbearance  and  protection.  As  tliis 
invitation  was  supported  by  a  band  of  thirty  or  forty  stout 
fellows,  only  one  gentleman,  an  ancestor,  if  I  mistake  not, 
of  the  present  Mr.  Grahame  of  Gartmore,  ventured  to  de- 
cline compliance.  Rob  Roy  instantly  swept  his  land  of  all 
he  could  drive  away,  and  among  the  spoil  was  a  bull  of  the 
old  Scottish  wild  breed,  whose  ferocity  occasioned  great 
plague  to  the  Ketterans.  "But  ere  we  had  reached  the 
Row  of  Denman,"  said  the  old  man,  "a  child  might  have 
scratched  his  ears. "3  The  circumstance  is  a  minute  one, 
but  it  paints  the  times  when  the  poor  beeve  was  compelled 

"  To  hoof  it  o'er  as  many  weary  miles. 

With  goarding  pikemen  holloing  at  his  heels, 

As  o'er  the  bravest  antler  of  the  woods."      EthwaU. 

8  Tkis  anecdote  was,  in  former  editions,  inaccurately  as- 
cribed to  Gregor  Macgregor  of  Glengj-le,  c?L\\esL.Ghlune  Mu, 
or  Black-kuee,  a  relation  of  Rob  Roy,  but,  as  I  have  been  as- 
sured, not  addicted  to  his  predatory  excesses.— iVbte  to  Third 
Edition, 


lASTO  IV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  159 

His  hide  was  snow,  his  horns  were  dark. 

His  red  eye  glow'd  like  fiery  spark  ; 

So  fierce,  so  tameless,  and  so  fleet, 

Sore  did  he  cumber  our  retreat, 

And  kept  our  stoutest  kernes  in  awe. 

Even  at  the  pass  of  Beal  'maha. 

But  steep  and  flinty  was  the  road, 

And  sharp  the  hurrying  pikemen's  goad, 

And  when  we  came  to  Dennan's  Row, 

A  child  might  scatheless  stroke  his  brow." — 


NORMAX. 

''  That  bull  was  slain  :  his  reeking  hide 
They  stretch'd  the  cataract  beside, 
TVho^e  waters  their  wild  tumult  toss 
Adown  the  black  and  craggy  boss 
Of  that  huge  cliff,  Avhose  ample  verge 
Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.^        ,«^5'H5. 
Couch'd  on  a  shelve  beneath  its  brink. 
Close  where  the  thundering  torrents  sink, 
Rocking  beneath  their  headlong  sway, 
And  drizzled  by  the  ceaseless  spray. 
Midst  groan  of  rock,  and  roar  of  stream, 

1  There  is  a  rock  .«o  named  in  the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas,  by 
which  a  tumultuary  cataract  takes  its  course.  This  wild 
place  is  said  in  former  times  to  have  afTonled  refuge  to  an 
outlaw,  who  was  supplied  with  provisions  by  a  woman,  who 
'owered  them  down  from  tlie  brink  of  the  precipice  above. 
flis  water  he  procured  for  himself,  by  letting  down  a  flagon 
tted  to  a  string,  into  the  black  pool  beneath  the  fall. 


[60  THE   LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  IV 

The  wizai'd  waits  prophetic  dream. 
Nor  distant  rests  the  Chief ; — but  hush  ! 
See,  gliding  slow  through  mist  and  bush, 
The  hermit  gains  yon  rock,  and  stands 
To  gaze  upon  our  slumbering  bands. 
Seems  he  not,  Malise,  like  a  ghost, 
That  hovers  o'er  a  slaughter'd  host  ? 
Or  raven  on  the  blasted  oak, 
That,  watchmg  while  the  deer  is  broke,^ 
His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  ?  " 


'*  Quartered. — Every  thing  belonging  to  the  chase  was 
matter  of  solemnity  among  our  ancestors;  but  nothing  was 
more  so  than  the  mode  of  cutting  up,  or,  as  it  was  techni- 
cally called,  breaking^  the  slaughtered  stag.  The  forester 
had  his  allotted  portion;  the  hounds  had  a  certain  allow- 
ance: and,  to  make  the  division  as  general  as  possible,  the 
very  birds  had  their  share  also.  "  There  is  a  little  gristle," 
says  Tuberville,  "  which  is  upon  the  spoone  of  the  brisket, 
which  we  call  the  raven's  bone;  and  I  have  seen  in  some 
places  a  raven  so  wont  and  accustomed  to  it,  that  she  would 
never  fail  to  croak  and  cry  for  it  all  the  time  you  were  in 
breaking  up  of  the  deer,  and  would  not  dej^art  till  she  had 
it."  In  the  very  ancient  metrical  romance  of  Sir  Tristrem, 
that  peerless  knight,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  very  de- 
viser of  all  rules  of  chase,  did  not  omit  the  ceremony. 

"  The  rauen  he  yaue  his  yiftes 
Sat  on  the  fourched  tre." 
Sir  Tristrem,  p.  160. 

The  laven  might  also  challenge  his  rights  by  the  Book  of 
St.  Albau's;  for  thus  says  Dame  Juliana  Berners: — 


-Slitteth  anon 


The  bely  to  the  side,  from  the  corbyn  bone; 
That  is  corbyn's  fee,  at  the  death  he  will  be  " 


BAJrro  IV. J  THE    PROPHECT.  1  Gl 

MALISE. 

— "  Peace !  peace  !  to  other  than  to  me, 

Thy  words  were  evil  augury  ; 

But  still  I  hold  Sir  Roderick's  blade 

Clan- Alpine's  omen  and  her  aid, 

Not  aught  that,  glean'd  from  heaven  or  hell. 

Yon  fiend-begotten  monk  can  tell. 

The  Chieftain  joins  him,  see — and  now, 

Together  they  descend  the  brow.'* 

VI. 

And,  as  they  came,  with  Alpine's  Lord 
The  Hermit  Monk  held  solemn  word  : 
"  Roderick !  it  is  a  fearful  strife. 
For  man  endow'd  with  mortal  life, 
Whose  shroud  of  sentient  clay  can  still 
Feel  feverish  pang  and  fainting  chill, 
Whose  eye  can  stare  in  stony  trance, 
Whose  hair  can  rouse  like  warrior's  lance, — 
'Tis  hard  for  such  to  view,  unfurl'd, 
The  curtain  of  the  future  world. 

Jonson,  in  "  The   Sad  Shepherd,"  gives  a  more  poetical 
iccount  of  the  same  ceremony:  — 

"  Marian. — He  that  undoes  him, 
Doth  cleave  the  brisket  bone,  upon  the  spoon 
Of  which  a  little  gristle  grows — you  call  it'^ 
Robin  Hood.     The  raven's  bone. 
Marian.    Now  o'er  head  sat  a  raven 
On  a  sere  bough,  a  grown,  great  bird,  and  hoarse^ 
Who,  all  the  while  the  deer  was  breaking  up, 
So  croak'd  and  cried  for't,  as  all  the  huntsmen, 
Especially  old  Scathlock,  thought  it  ominous." 
11 


162  THE    LADY    OP    THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  IV. 

Yet,  witness  every  quaking  limb, 

My  sunken  pulse,  mine  eyeballs  dim, 

My  soul  with  harrowing  anguish  torn, 

This  for  my  Chieftain  have  I  borne ! — 

The  shapes  that  sought  my  fearful  couch, 

An  human  tongue  may  ne'er  avouch ; 

No  mortal  man, — save  he,  who,  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead. 

Is  gifted  beyond  Nature's  law, — 

Had  e'er  surviv'd  to  say  he  saw. 

At  length  the  fateful  answer  came. 

In  characters  of  living  flame  ! 

Not  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazed  in  scroll. 

But  borne  and  branded  on  my  soul ; — 

C Which    spills    the    fokkmost    foejlan's 
LIFE,^ 
That  party  conquers  in  the  strife." — ' 

VII. 

"  Thanks,  Brian,  for  thy  zeal  and  care ! 
Good  is  thine  augury,  and  fair. 

1  [MS. — "  Which  foremost  spills  a  foeman's  life."] 

2  [Though  this  be  iu  the  text  described  as  a  response  of 
the  Taghairm,  or  Oracle  of  the  Hide,  it  was  of  itself  an  aug- 
ury frequently  attended  to.  The  fate  of  the  battle  was  often 
jtnticipated  in  the  imagination  of  the  combatants,  by  observ- 
ing which  party  firet  shed  blood.  It  is  said  that  the  High 
landers  under  Montrose  were  so  deeply  imbued  with  this 
lotion,  that,  on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Tippemioor 
Jhey  murdered  a  defenceless  herdsman,  whom  they  found  in 
llie  fields,  merely  to  secure  an  advantage  of  so  much  conse- 
quence to  their  party. 


ftASTOIV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  163 

Clan- Alpine  ne'er  in  battle  stood, 

But  first  our  broadswords  tasted  blood. 

A  surer  victim  still  I  know, 

Self-offer'd  to  the  auspicious  blow  : 

A  spy  has  sought  my  land  this  morn, — 

No  eve  shall  witness  his  return  ! 

My  followers  guard  each  pass's  mouth, 

To  east,  to  westward,  and  to  south  ; 

Red  Murdoch,  bribed  to  be  his  guide,^ 

Has  charge  to  lead  his  steps  aside. 

Till,  in  deep  path  or  dingle-brown, 

He  light  on  those  shall  bring  him  down.* 

— But  see,  who  comes  his  news  to  show  ! 

Malise !  what  tidings  of  the  foe  ?  " — 

VIII. 

"  At  Donne,  o'er  many  a  spear  and  glaive 

Two  Barons  proud  their  banners  wave. 

I  saw  the  Moray's  silver  star, 

And  mark'd  the  sable  pale  of  Mar." — 

"  By  Alpine's  soul,  high  tidings  those  ! 

I  love  to  hear  of  worthy  foes. 

When  move  thev  on?  " — "To-morrow's  noon,* 


1  pis.—"  The  clanptnan  vainly  deem'd  his  guide."] 
*  [MS.— "He  light  on  those  shall  stab  him  down."] 

[MS.—"  '  When  move  thev  on  ?  '  i  '  ll*"^ '""  I  at  noon 
•■  ■  (     To-day     ) 

*  'Tis  said  will  see  them  march  from  Doune.' 

♦  To-morrow  then  |  ^'^^^^  I  meeting  stern. ' "] 

(    sees    ) 


LIBRARY 


164  THE   LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.     [CASTO  TV 

Will  see  them  here  for  battle  boune." — i 

"  Then  shall  it  see  a  meeting  stem  ! — 

But,  for  the  place — say,  could'st  thou  learn 

Nought  of  the  friendly  clans  of  Earn  ? 

Strengthen'd  by  them,  we  well  might  bide 

The  battle  on  Benledi's  side. 

Thou  could'st  not  ? — Well !  Clan-Alpine's  men 

Shall  man  the  Trosach's  shaggy  glen ; 

Within  Loch  Katrine's  gorge  we'll  fight. 

All  in  our  maids'  and  matrons'  sight, 

Each  for  his  hearth  and  household  fire. 

Father  for  child,  and  son  for  sire, — 

Lover  for  maid  beloved  ! — But  why — 

Is  it  the  breeze  affects  mine  eye  ? 

Or  dost  thou  come,  ill-omen'd  tear  ! 

A  messenger  of  doubt  or  fear  ? 

No !  sooner  may  the  Saxon  lance 

Unfix  Benledi  from  his  stance, 

Than  doubt  or  terror  can  pierce  thi-ough 

The  unyielding  heart  of  Roderick  Dhu  ! 

'Tis  stubborn  as  his  trusty  targe. — ^ 

Each  to  his  post ! — all  know  their  charge.'* 

The  pibroch  sounds,  the  bands  advance, 

The  broadswords  gleam,  the  banners  dance, 

Obedient  to  the  Chieftain's  glance. 

— I  turn  me  from  the  martial  roar, 

And  seek  Coir-Uriskin  once  more. 

1  For  battle  boune — ready  for  battle. 

*  [MS. — "  'Tis  stubborn  as  his  Highland  targe."] 


CABTO  IT.]  THE   PBOPHECT.  1 65 

IX. 

Where  is  the  Douglas  ? — he  is  gone  ; 
And  Ellen  sits  on  the  gray  stone 
Fast  by  the  cave,  and  makes  her  moan  ; 
While  vainly  Allan's  words  of  cheer 
Are  pour'd  on  her  unheeding  ear. — 
**  He  will  return — Dear  lady,  trust ! — 
With  joy  return  ; — he  will — he  must. 
Well  was  it  time  to  seek,  afar, 
Some  refuge  from  impending  war, 
When  e'en  Clan- Alpine's  rugged  swarm 
Are  cow'd  by  the  approaching  storm. 
I  saw  their  boats  with  many  a  light. 
Floating  the  hve-long  yesternight, 
Shifting  like  flashes  darted  forth  * 
By  the  red  streamers  of  the  north; 
I  mark'd  at  mom  how  close  they  ride, 
Thick  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side, 
Like  wild-ducks  couching  in  the  fen, 
When  stoops  the  hawk  upon  the  glen. 
Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 
The  peril  on  the  mainland  side. 


And  saw  at  morn  their  ■{  ,. 


I  [MS.—"  Thick  a3  the  flashes  darted  forth 
By  morrice-dancers  of  the  north; 

barges  ride 
little  fleet, 
Close  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side. 
Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 
Upon  their  native  mountain  side, 
'Tis  fit  that  Douglas  should  provide 
For  his  dear  child  some  safe  abode, 
And  soon  he  comes  to  point  the  road.*'J 


166  THE    LADY   OF    THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  IV 

Shall  not  thy  noble  father's  care 

Some  safe  retreat  for  thee  prepare  ?  '* — 


X. 


"  No,  Allan,  no !  Pretext  so  kind  ^ 
My  wakeful  terrors  could  not  blind. 
When  in  such  tender  tone,  yet  grave, 
Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave, 
The  tear  that  ghsten'd  in  his  eye 
Drown'd  not  his  purpose  fix'd  on  high. 
My  soul,  though  feminine  and  weak, 
Can  image  his  ;  e'en  as  the  lake. 
Itself  disturb'd  by  slightest  stroke,* 
Reflects  the  invulnerable  rock. 
He  hears  report  of  battle  rife. 
He  deems  himself  the  cause  of  strife. 
I  saw  him  redden,  when  the  theme 
Tum'd,  Allan,  on  thine  idle  dream. 
Of  Malcolm  Grreme,  in  fetters  bound, 
Which  I,  thou  saidst,  about  him  wound. 
Think'st  thou  he  trow'd  thine  omen  aught  ? 
Oh  no !  'twas  apprehensive  thought 
For  the  kind  youth, — for  Roderick  too — 
(Let  me  be  just)  that  friend  so  true  ; 

1  [MS. — "  No,  Allan,  no!  His  words  so  kind 

Were  but  pretexts  my  fears  to  blind, 
When  in  such  solemn  tone  and  grave, 
Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave."] 

«  [MS.—"  Itself  disturb'd  by  slightest  shock, 
Reflects  the  adamantine  rock."] 


OAXTOIV.]  THE   PROPHECY.  167 

In  danger  both,  and  in  our  cause ! 
Minstrel,  the  Douglas  dare  not  pause. 
Why  else  that  solemn  warning  given, 
» If  not  on  earth,  we  meet  in  heaven !  * 
Why  else,  to  Cambus-kenneth's  fane, 
If  eve  return  him  not  again, 
Am  I  to  hie,  and  make  me  known  ? 
Alas !  he  goes  to  Scotland's  throne, 
Buys  his  friend's  safety  with  his  own;— 
He  goes  to  do— what  I  had  done, 
Had°  Douglas'  daughter  been  his  son  !^— 

XI. 

"  Nay,  lovely  Ellen  I— dearest,  nay  I 
If  aught  should  his  return  delay, 
He  only  named  yon  holy  fane 
As  fitting  place  to  meet  again. 
Be  sure  he's  safe  ;  and  for  the  Gneme,— 
Heaven's  blessing  on  his  gallant  name ! 
My  vision'd  sight  may  yet  prove  true, 
Nor  bode  of  ill  to  him  or  you. 
When  did  my  gifted  dream  beguile  ? 
Think  of  the  stranger  at  the  isle. 
And  think  upon  the  harpings  slow. 
That  presaged  this  approaching  woe ! 
Sooth  was  my  prophecy  of  fear ; 
Believe  it  when  it  augurs  cheer. 
Would  we  had  left  this  dismal  spot  1 
111  luck  still  haunts  a  fairy  grot. 
Of  such  a  wondrous  tale  I  know — 


168  THE   LADY    OF   THE   LA.KE.     [CAKTO  !▼. 

Dear  lady,  change  that  look  of  woe, 
My  harp  was  wont  thy  grief  to  cheer." — 

ELLEN. 

"  Well,  be  it  as  thou  wilt ;  I  hear. 
But  cannot  stop  the  bursting  tear." 
The  lyiinstrel  tried  his  simple  art, 
But  distant  far  was  Ellen's  heart. 

XII. 
BALLAD.* 

ALICE  BRAND. 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 

When  the  mavis^  and  merle*  are  singing, 
When  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hounds  are 

in  cry, 
And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

"  O  Ahce  Brand,  my  native  land 

Is  lost  for  love  of  you  ; 
And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold. 

As  outlaws  wont  to  do. 

"  O  Alice,  'twas  all  for  thy  locks  so  bright, 
And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue, 

That  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight, 
Thy  brother  bold  I  slew. 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  K.] 

2  Thrush.  «  Blackbird. 


tAOTO  IV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  169 

"  Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beech 

The  hand  that  held  the  glaive, 
For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed, 

And  stakes  to  fence  oar  cave. 

•»  And  for  vest  of  pall,  thy  fingers  small, 

That  wont  on  harp  to  stray, 
A  cloak  must  shear  from  the  slaughter'd  deer. 

To  keep  the  cold  away." — 

"  0  Richai'd  I  if  my  brother  died, 

'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance  ; 
For  darkhng  wiis  the  battle  tried, 

And  fortune  sped  the  lance.^ 

"  If  pall  and  vair  no  more  I  wear, 

Nor  thou  the  crimson  sheen, 
As  warm,  we'll  say,  is  the  russet  gray, 

A;  gay  the  forest-green. 

"  And,  Richai'd,  if  our  lot  be  hard, 

And  lost  thy  native  land. 
Still  AHce  has  her  own  Richard, 

And  he  his  Ahce  Brand." 


1  [MS.—"  'Twas  but  a  midnight  chance ; 

For  blindfold  was  the  battle  plied, 
And  fortune  held  the  lance."] 


170  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     fCANTO  IV. 

XIII. 
BALLAD    CONTINUED. 

*Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood. 

So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  singing ; 
On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side. 

Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

Up  spoke  the  moody  Elfin  King, 
Who  won'd  within  the  hill, — ^ 

1  In  a  long  dissertation  upon  the  Fairy  Superstitions,  pub- 
lished in  the  Minstrehy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  the  most 
valuable  part  of  which  was  supplied  by  ni}'  learned  and  in- 
defatigable friend,  Dr.  John  Leyden,  most  of  the  circum- 
stances are  collected  which  can  throw  light  upuu  the  popular 
belief  which  even  yet  prevails  respecting  tiieni  in  Scotland. 
Dr  Grahame,  author  of  an  entertaining  wi-rk  upon  the 
Scenery  of  the  Perthshire  Highlands,  already  frequently 
quoted,  has  recorded,  with  grtat  accuracy,  the  peculiar  te- 
nets held  b}'  the  Highlanders  on  this  topic,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Loch-Katrine.  The  learned  autlior  is  inclined  to  deduce  the 
whole  mythology  from  the  Druidical  system, — an  opinion  to 
which  there  are  many  objections. 

"  The  Daoine  Shi\  or  Men  of  Peace  of  the  Highlanders, 
though  not  absolutely  malevolent,  are  believed  to  be  a  pee- 
vish, repining  race  of  beings,  who,  possessing  themselves  but 
a  scanty  portion  of  happiness,  are  supposed  to  envy  mankind 
their  more  complete  and  substantial  enjoyments.  They  are 
supposed  to  enjoy,  in  their  subterraneous  recesses,  a  sort  of 
shadowy  happiness, — a  tinsel  grandeur;  which,  however, 
they  would  willingly  exchange  for  the  more  solid  joys  of 
mortality. 

"  They  are  believed  to  inhabit  certain  round  grassy  emi- 
nences, where  they  celebrate  their  nocturnal  festivities  by 
the  light  of  the  moon.  About  a  mile  bej'ond  the  source  of 
the  Forth  above  Lochcon  there  is  a  place  called  Coirshi^an 


OAHTO  nr.]  THE    PROPHECY.  171 

Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruin'd  church, 
His  voice  was  ghostly  shrilL 


or  the  Cove  of  the  Men  of  Peace,  which  is  still  supposed  to 
be  a  favourite  place  of  their  residence.  In  the  neighbour 
hood  are  to  be  seen  many  round  conical  eminences ;  particu- 
larly one,  near  the  head  of  the  lake,  by  the  skirts  of  which 
many  are  still  afraid  to  pass  after  sunset.  It  is  believed, 
that  if,  on  HuUow-eve,  any  person,  alone,  goes  round  one  of 
these  hills  nine  times,  towards  the  left  hand,  {dnistrorsum),  a 
door  shall  open,  by  which  he  will  be  admitted  into  their  sub- 
terraneous abodes.  Many,  it  is  said,  of  mortal  race,  have 
been  entertained  in  their  secret  recesses.  There  they  have 
been  received  into  the  most  splendid  apartments,  and  re- 
galed with  the  most  sumptuous  banquets,  and  delicious 
wines.  Their  females  surpass  the  daughters  of  men  in 
beauty.  The  seemingly  happy  inhabitants  pass  their  time  in 
festivity,  and  in  dancing  to  notes  of  the  softest  music.  But 
unhappy  is  the  mortal  who  joins  in  their  joys,  or  ventures 
to  partake  of  their  dainties.  By  this  indulgence,  he  for 
feits  forever  the  society  of  men,  and  is  bound  down  irrevo 
cably  to  the  condition  of  SliCkh,  or  Man  of  Peace. 

•*  A  woman,  as  is  reported  in  the  Highland  tradition,  was 
conveyed,  in  days  of  j'ore,  into  the  secret  recesses  of  the 
Men  of  Peace.  There  she  was  recognized  by  one  who  had 
formerly  been  an  ordinary  mortal,  but  who  had,  by  some 
fatality,  become  associated  with  the  Shi'ichs.  This  ac- 
quaintance, still  retaining  some  portion  of  human  benevo- 
lence, warned  her  of  her  danger,  and  counselled  her,  as  she 
valued  her  liberty,  to  abstain  from  eating  and  drinking  with 
them  for  a  certain  space  of  time.  She  complied  with  the 
counsel  cf  her  friend;  and  when  the  f>eriod  assigned  was 
elapsed,  she  found  herself  again  upon  earth,  restored  to  the 
society  of  mortals.  It  is  added,  that  when  she  examined 
the  viands  which  had  been  presented  to  her,  and  which  had 
appeared  so  tempting  to  the  eye,  the}'  were  found,  now  that 
the  enchantment  was  removed,  to  consist  only  of  the  refuse 
of  the  earth."— P.  107-111. 


172  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [C.VSTO  I\. 

Why  sounds  jon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak. 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ?  ^ 
Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  ?  ^ 
Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies  fatal  green  ?  ' 

"  Up,  Urgan,  up !  to  yon  mortal  hie. 

For  thou  wert  christen'd  man  ;  * 
For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly. 

For  mutter'd  word  or  ban. 

1  [MS. — "  Our  fairy  ringlet's  screen."] 

2  [See  Appendix,  Note  L.] 

*  As  the  Daoine  Shi,^  or  Men  of  Peace,  wore  green  habits, 
they  were  supposed  to  take  offence  when  any  mortals  ven- 
tured to  assume  their  favourite  colour.  Indeed,  from  some 
reason,  which  has  been,  perhaps,  originally  a  general  super- 
stition, green  is  held  in  Scotland  to  be  unlucky  to  particular 
tribes  and  counties.  The  Caithness  men,  who  hold  this  be- 
lief, allege,  as  a  reason,  that  their  bands  wore  that  colour 
when  they  were  cut  off  at  the  battle  of  Flodden;  and  for 
the  same  reason  they  avoid  crossing  the  Ord  on  a  Monday, 
being  the  day  of  the  week  on  which  their  ill-omened  array 
set  forth.  Green  is  also  disliked  by  those  of  the  name  of 
Ogilvy;  but  more  especially  is  it  held  fatal  to  the  whole 
clan  of  Grahame.  It  is  remembered  of  an  aged  gentleman 
of  that  name,  that  when  his  horse  fell  in  a  fox-chase,  he  ac- 
counted for  it  at  once,  by  observing,  that  the  whip-cord  at- 
tached to  his  lash  was  of  this  unlucky  colour. 

4  The  Elves  were  supposed  greatly  to  envy  the  privileges 
acquired  by  Christian  initiation,  and  they  gave  to  those 
mortals  who  had  fallen  into  their  power,  a  certain  prece- 
dence, founded  upon  this  advantageous  distinction.  Tarn 
iane,  in  the  old  ballad  describes  his  own  rank  in  the  fairy 
procession: — 


CASTO  IV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  173 

**  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  withered  heart. 
The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eye ; 

"  For  I  ride  on  a  milk-white  steed. 

And  aye  nearest  the  town; 
Because  I  was  a  christen'd  knight, 
Thev  gave  me  that  renown." 

1  presume,  that  in  the  Danish  ballad  of  the  Elfin  Grey  (see 
Appendix,  Note  K.)  the  obstinacy  of  the  "  Weist  Elf,"  who 
would  not  flee  for  cross  or  sign,  is  to  be  derived  from  the 
circumstance  of  his  having  been  "  christen'd  man." 

How  eager  the  Elves  were  to  obtain  for  their  offspring  the 
prerogatives  of  Christianity,  will  be  proved  by  the  following 
story:  "In  the  district  called  Haga,  in  Iceland,  dwelt  a 
nobleman  called  Sigward  Forster,  who  had  an  intrigne  with 
one  of  the  subterranean  females.  The  elf  became  pregnant, 
and  exacted  from  her  lover  a  firm  promise  that  he  would 
procure  the  baptism  of  the  infant.  At  the  appointed  time, 
the  mother  came  to  the  churchyard,  on  the  wall  of  which 
she  placed  a  golden  cup,  and  a  stole  for  the  priest,  agreeable 
to  the  custom  of  making  an  offering  at  baptism.  She  then 
stood  a  little  apart.  When  the  priest  left  the  church,  he 
enquired  the  meaning  of  what  he  saw,  and  demanded  of  Sig- 
ward if  he  avowed  himself  the  father  of  the  child.  But 
Sigward,  ashamed  of  the  connexion,  denied  the  paternity. 
Henvas  then  interrogated  if  he  desired  that  the  child  should 
be  bap:ized;  but  this  also  he  answered  in  the  negative,  lest 
by  such  request,  he  should  admit  himself  to  be  the  father. 
On  which  the  child  was  left  untouched  and  unbaptized. 
Whereupon  the  mother,  in  extreme  wrath,  snatched  up  the 
uifant  and  the  cup,  and  retired,  leaving  the  priestly  cope,  of 
which  fragments  are  still  in  preservation.  But  this  female 
denounced  and  imposed  upon  Sigward,  and  his  posterity,  to 
the  ninth  generation,  a  singular  disease,  with  which  many 
of  his  descendants  are  afflicted  at  this  day."  Thus  wrote 
Einar  Dudinond,  pastor  of  the  parish  of  Garpsdale,  in  Ice- 
land, a  man  profoundly  versed  in  learning,  from  whose  manu- 
script it  was  extracted  by  the  learned  Torfaeus  — Astoria 
Ei-olfi  K>akii,  Ha/nice,  17 lo, prefatio. 


174  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     [CAXTO  iv. 

Till  he  wish  and  praj  that  his  life  would  part, 
Nor  yet  find  leave  to  die." 

XIV. 
BALLAD    CONTINUED. 

*Tis  merry,  *tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 
Though  the  birds  have  still'd  then*  singing ; 

The  evening  blaze  doth  Alice  raise, 
And  Richard  his  fagots  bringing. 

Up  Urgan  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf, 

Before  Lord  Richard  stands, 
And,  as  he  cross'd  and  bless'd  himself, 
"  I  fear  not  sign,"  quoth  the  grisly  elf, 

"  That  is  made  with  bloody  hands." 

But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 

That  woman  void  of  fear, — 
"  And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand, 

*Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer." —  # 

**  Now  loud  thou  liest,  thou  bold  of  mood ! 

It  cleaves  unto  his  hand. 
The  stain  of  thine  own  kindly  blood. 

The  blood  of  Ethert  Brand." 

Then  forward  stepp'd  she,  Alice  Brand, 

And  made  the  holy  sign, — 
"  And  if  there's  blood  on  Richard's  hand, 

A  spotless  hand  is  mine. 


tASTO  IV.]  THE    PROPHECr.  175 

"  And  I  conjure  tliee,  Demon  elf, 

By  Him  whom  Demons  fear, 
To  shew  us  whence  thou  art  thyself, 

And  what  thine  errand  here  ?  " — 


XV. 
BALLAD    CONTLNUED. 

•*'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  Fairy-land, 

When  fairy  birds  are  singing. 
When  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monai'ch's 
side, 

With  bit  and  bridle  ringing  : 

"  And  gayly  shines  the  Fairy-land — 

But  all  is  glistening  show,^ 
Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 

Can  dart  on  ice  and  snow. 

"  And  fading,  like  that  varied  gleam, 

Is  our  inconstant  shape, 
Who  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem, 

And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

**  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 

When  the  Fairy  King  has  power. 

That  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 

And,  'twixt  life  and  death,  was  snatch'd  away 

To  the  joyless  Eltin  bower.* 

1  [Seo  Appendix,  Note  M.] 

*  The  subjects  u^  Fairy-land  were  recruited  from  the  re 


176  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     lCA>'ro  IV 

"  But  wist  I  of  a  woman  bold, 
Who  thrice  my  brow  durst  sign, 

I  might  regain  my  mortal  mold. 
As  fair  a  form  as  thine." 

She  cross'd  him  once — she  cross'd  him  twice— 
That  lady  was  so  brave ; 

gicts  of  humanity  by  a  sort  of  crimping  system,  which  ex- 
tended to  adults  as  well  as  to  infants.  Many  of  those  who 
were  in  this  world  supposed  to  have  discharged  the  debt  of 
nature,  hud  only  become  denizens  of  the*'Londeof  Faery." 
In  the  beautiful  Fairy  Romance  of  Orfee  and  Heurodiis  (Or- 
pheus and  Eurydice)  in  the  Auchinleck.  MS.,  is  the  follow- 
ing striking  enumeration  of  persons  thus  abstracted  from 
middle  earth.  Mr.  Ritson  unfortunately  published  this  ro- 
mance from  a  copy  in  which  the  following,  and  many  other 
highly  poetical  passages  do  not  occur: — 

"  Then  he  gan  biholde  about  al, 

And  eeighe  ful  liggeand  with  in  the  wal, 

Of  folk  that  were  thidder  y-brought, 

And  thought  dede  and  nere  nought ; 

Some  stode  with  outen  hadde; 

And  sum  none  armes  nade; 

And  sum  thurch  the  bodi  hadde  wounde; 

And  sum  lay  wode  y-bounde; 

And  sum  armed  on  hors  sete ; 

And  sum  astrangled  as  thai  ete ; 

And  sum  war  in  water  adreynt; 

And  sum  with  fire  al  forschrejiit; 

Wives  ther  la)-  on  cliilde  bedde; 

Sam  dede,  and  sum  awedde; 

And  wonder  fele  ther  lay  besides, 

Right  as  thai  slepe  her  undertidea; 

Eche  was  thu'i  in  the  warld  y-nome, 

With  fairi  thider  y-corae." 


CAxro  rv.]  the  phophecy.  177 

The  fouler  grew  his  goblin  hue, 
The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

She  cross'd  him  thrice,  that  lady  bold ; 

He  rose  beneath  her  hand 
The  fliirest  knight  on  Scottish  mold, 

Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand ! 

Merry  it  is  in  good  greenwood. 

When  the  ma^^s  and  merle  are  singing, 

But  merrier  were  they  in  Dunfermline  gray, 
When  all  the  bells  were  ringmg. 

XVI. 

Just  as  the  minstrel  sounds  were  staid, 
A  stranger  chmb'd  the  steepy  glade : 
His  martial  step,  his  stately  mien. 
His  banting  suit  of  Lincoln  green. 
His  eagle  glance,  remembrance  claims — 
'Tis  Snowdoun's  Knight,  'tis  James  Fitz-Jamea 
Ellen  beheld  as  in  a  dream, 
Then,  starting,  scarce  suppress'd  a  scream  : 
"  0  stranger  !  in  such  hour  of  fear. 
What  evil  hap  has  brought  thee  here  ? 
"  An  evil  hap  how  can  it  be. 
That  bids  me  look  again  on  thee  ? 
By  promise  bound,  my  former  guide 
Met  me  betimes  this  morning  tide, 
And  marshall'd,  over  bank  and  bourne. 
The  happy  path  of  my  return." — 
12 


.5 »' 


178  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAIvK.      [CANXO  IV 

"  The  bappy  path  ! — what !  said  he  nought 
Of  war,  of  battle  to  be  fought, 
Of  guarded  pass  ?  " — "  No,  by  my  faith  I 
Nor  saw  I  aught  could  augur  scathe." — 
"  O  haste  thee,  Allan,  to  the  kern, 
— Yonder  his  tartans  I  discern ; 
Learn  thou  his  purpose,  and  conjure 
That  he  will  guide  the  stranger  sure  ! — 
What  prompted  thee,  unhappy  man  ? 
The  meanest  serf  in  Roderick's  clan 
Had  not  been  bribed  by  love  or  fear, 
Unknown  to  him  to  guide  thee  here." 

XVII. 

"  Sweet  Ellen,  dear  my  life  must  be, 

Since  it  is  worthy  care  from  thee  ; 

Yet  life  I  hold  but  idle  breath. 

When  love  or  honour's  weigh'd  with  death. 

Then  let  me  profit  by  my  chance, 

And  speak  my  purpose  bold  at  once. 

I  come  to  bear  thee  from  a  wild. 

Where  ne'er  before  such  blossom  smiled ; 

By  this  soft  hand  to  lead  thee  far 

From  frantic  scenes  of  feud  and  war. 

Near  Bochastle  my  horses  wait :  ^ 

They  bear  us  soon  to  StirUng  gate. 

I'll  place  thee  in  a  lovely  bower, 

I'll  guard  thee  Uke  a  tender  flower  " 

1  [MS. — "  By  Cambusmore  my  horses  wait."] 


5ANTO  IV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  179 

«  O  !  hush,  Sir  Knight !  'twere  female  art, 
To  say  I  do  not  read  thj  heart ; 
Too  much,  before,  my  selfish  ear 
"Was  idly  soothed  my  praise  to  hear.* 
That  fatal  bait  hath  lured  thee  back, 
In  deathtul  hour,  o'er  dangerous  track ; 
And  how,  O  how,  can  I  atone 
The  wreck  my  vanity  brought  on  ! — 
One  way  remains — I'll  tell  him  all — 
Yes !  struggling  bosom,  forth  it  shaU ! 
Thou,  whose  light  folly  bears  the  blame, 

Buy  thine  own  pardon  with  thy  shame ! 

But  first — my  father  is  a  man 

Outlaw'd,  and  exiled,  under  ban  ; 

The  price  of  blood  is  on  his  head, 

With  me  'twere  infamy  to  wed. — 

Still  wouldst  thou  speak  ? — then  hear  the  troth ! 

Fitz-James,  there  is  a  noble  youth, — 

K  yet  he  is  ! — exposed  for  me 

And  mine  to  dread  extremity — 

Thou  hast  the  secret  of  my  heart ; 

Forgive,  be  generous,  and  depart !  ** 

XVIII. 

Fitz-James  knew  every  wily  train 
A  lady's  fickle  heart  to  gain. 
But  here  he  knew  and  felt  them  vain, 
rhere  shot  no  glance  from  Ellen's  eye, 

I  [MS.— "  Was  idly  fond  thy  praise  to  hear."] 


180  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE,     f CANTO  IV 

To  give  her  steadfast  speech  the  lie  ; 

In  maiden  confidence  she  stood, 

Though  mantled  in  her  cheek  the  blood, 

And  told  her  love  with  such  a  sigh 

Of  deep  and  hopeless  agony, 

As  death  had  seal'd  her  Malcolm's  doom, 

And  she  sat  sorrowing  on  his  tomb. 

Hope  vanish'd  from  Fitz-James's  eye, 

But  not  with  hope  fled  sympathy. 

He  proffer'd  to  attend  her  side, 

As  brother  would  a  sister  guide. — 

"  O !  little  know'st  thou  Roderick's  heart  I 

Safer  for  both  we  go  apart. 

O  haste  thee,  and  from  Allan  learn, 

If  thou  may'st  trust  yon  wily  kern." 

With  hand  upon  his  forehead  laid. 

The  conflict  of  his  mind  to  shade, 

A  parting  step  or  two  he  made ; 

Then,  as  some  thought  had  cross'd  his  brain. 

He  paused,  and  turn'd,  and  came  again. 

XIX. 

"  Hear,  lady,  yet,  a  parting  word ! — 
It  chanced  in  fight  that  my  poor  sword 
Preserved  the  Ufe  of  Scotland's  lord. 
This  ring  the  grateful  Monai'ch  gave,* 
And  bade,  when  I  had  boon  to  crave, 
To  bring  it  back,  and  boldly  claim 

1  [MS.—"  This  ring  of  gold  the  monarch  gave."] 


CAHTO  IV.J  THE    PROPHECY.  181 

The  recompense  that  I  would  name. 

Ellen,  I  am  no  courtly  lord. 

But  one  who  lives  by  lance  and  sword, 

Whose  castle  is  his  helm  and  shield, 

His  lordship  the  embattled  field. 

What  from  a  prince  can  I  demand, 

Who  neither  reck  of  state  nor  land  ? 

Ellen,  thy  hand — the  ring  is  thine  ;  ^ 

Each  guard  and  usher  knows  the  sign. 

Seek  thou  the  king  without  delay ;  * 

This  signet  shall  secure  thy  way ; 

And  claim  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 

As  ransom  of  his  pledge  to  me.**  • 

He  placed  the  golden  circlet  on. 

Paused — kiss'd  her  hand — and  then  was  gona 

The  aged  Minstrel  stood  aghast. 

So  hastily  Fitz-.James  shot  past. 

He  join'd  his  guide,  and  winding  down 

The  ridges  of  the  mountain  brown, 

Across  the  stream  they  took  then-  way, 

That  joins  Loch  Katrine  to  Achray. 

XX. 

All  in  the  Trosach's  glen  was  still, 
Noontide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill : 

1  [ilS. — "  Permit  this  hand — the  ring  is  thine."] 
*  [MS.  — " '  Seek  thou  the  King,  and  on  thy  knee 

Put  forth  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 

As  ransom  of  his  ploige  to  me ; 

My  name  and  thU  shall  make  thy  way.' 

He  put  the  little  signet  on.  "J 


182  THE    LADir    OF   THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  ly 

Sudden  his  guide  whoop'd  loud  and  high — 
"  Murdoch  !  was  that  a  signal  cry  ?  " 
He  stammer'd  forth, — "  I  shout  to  scare  ^ 
Yon  ra^en  from  his  dainty  fare." 
He  look'd — he  knew  the  raven's  prey, 
His  own  brave  steed  : — ''  Ah !  gallant  grey  1 
For  thee — for  me,  perchance — 'twere  well 
"We  ne'er  had  seen  the  Trosach's  dell. — 
Murdoch,  move  first — but  silently  ; 
Whistle  or  whoop,  and  thou  shalt  die  ! " 
Jealous  and  sullen  on  they  fared, 
Each  silent,  each  upon  his  guard- 

XXI. 

Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Around  a  precipice's  edge. 
When  lo !  a  wasted  female  form, 
Blighted  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm, 
In  tatter'd  weeds  and  wild  array,^ 
Stood  on  a  cliff  beside  the  way, 
And  glancing  round  her  restless  eye. 
Upon  the  wood,  the  rock,  the  sky, 
Seem'd  nought  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy. 
Her  brow  was  wreath'd  with  gaudy  broom ; 
With  gesture  wild  she  waved  a  plume 


A  [MS. — "  He  stammer'd  forth  confused  reply: 

1  f -^^r"'-  1  .      r  I  shouted  but  to  scare 
'  Sir  Knight,     ) 

Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare.'  "] 

2  [MS.—"  Wrapp'd  iu  a  tatter'd  mantle  gray."] 


CANTO  IV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  183 

Of  feathers,  which  the  eagles  fling 
To  crag  and  cliff  from  dusky  wing  ; 
Such  spoils  her  desperate  step  had  sought, 
Where  scarce  was  footing  for  the  goat. 
The  tartan  plaid  she  first  descried, 
And  shriek'd  till  aU  the  rocks  replied ; 
As  loud  she  laugh'd  when  near  thev  drew, 
For  then  the  Lowland  garb  she  knew  ; 
And  then  her  hands  she  wildly  wrung. 
And  then  she  wept,  and  then  she  sung — 
She  sung  ! — the  voice  in  better  time, 
Perchance  to  harp  or  lute  might  chime ; 
And  now  though  strain'd  and  roughen'd,  still 
Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  and  hiU. 

XXII. 
S  O  X  G  . 

They  bid  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray, 

The/  say  my  brain  is  warp'd  and  \vrung— 

I  cannot  sleep  on  Highland  brae, 
I  cannot  pray  in  Highland  tongue. 

But  were  I  now  where  Allan^  glides, 

Or  heard  my  native  Devan's  tides. 

So  sweetly  would  I  rest,  and  pray 

That  Heaven  would  close  ray  wintrj'  day ! 

*Twas  thus  my  hair  they  bade  me  braid, 

1  [The  AlLjn  and  Devan  are  two  beautiful  streams,  the 
latter  celebrated  in  the  poetry  of  Bums,  which  descend  from 
the  hills  of  Perthshire  into  the  p-eat  carse  or  plain  of  Stir- 
ling.] 


1 84  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [cANTO  IV 

Thej  bade  me  to  the  church  repair ; 
It  was  my  bridal  morn  they  said, 

And  my  true-love  would  meet  me  there. 
But  woe  betide  the  cruel  guile, 
That  di'own'd  in  blood  the  morning  smile  I 
And  woe  betide  the  fairy  dream  ! 
1  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream." 

XXIII. 

"  Who  is  this  maid  ?  what  means  her  lay  ? 

She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way, 

And  flutters  Avide  her  mantle  gray, 

As  the  lone  heron  spreads  his  wing, 

By  twilight,  o'er  a  haunted  spring." — ■ 

« 'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,"  Murdoch  said,* 

"  A  crazed  and  captive  Lowland  maid, 

Ta'en  on  the  morn  she  was  a  bride. 

When  Roderick  foray'd  Devan-side. 

The  gay  bridegroom  resistance  made. 

And  felt  our  Chiefs  unconquer'd  blade. 

I  marvel  she  is  now  at  large, 

But  oft  she  'scapes  from  Maudlin's  charge. — 

Hence,  brainsick  fool ! " — He  raised  his  bow : — 

•*  Now,  if  thou  strikest  her  but  one  blow, 

I'll  pitch  thee  from  the  cliff  as  far 

As  ever  peasant  pitch'd  a  bar  !  " — 

"  Thanks,  champion,  thanks  ! "  the  Maniac  cried. 


I  [MS. — ^"  •  A  Saxon  born,  a  crazy  maid — 

'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,'  Murdoch  said."] 


OASTO  IV  ]  THE    PEOPHECT.  1 85 

And  press'd  her  to  Fitz-James's  side. 
"  See  the  gray  peiinons  I  prepare,* 
To  seek  my  true-love  through  the  air! 
I  will  not  lend  that  savage  gi'oom,* 
To  break  his  fall,  one  do^vny  plume ! 
No  ! — deep  amid  disjointed  stones, 
The  wolves  shall  batten  on  his  bones, 
And  then  shall  his  detested  plaid, 
By  bush  and  brier  in  mid  air  staid. 
Wave  forth  a  banner  fair  and  free, 
Meet  signal  for  their  revelry." — 

XXIV. 

**  Hush  thee,  poor  maiden,  and  be  still !  ** — 
"  O !  thou  look'st  kindly,  and  I  wilL — 
Mine  eye  has  dried  and  wasted  been, 
But  still  it  loves  the  Lincoln  green ; 
And,  though  mine  ear  is  all  unstrung. 
Still,  still  it  loves  the  Lowland  tongue. 

"  For  0  my  sweet  William  was  forester  true,^ 
He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away  ! 

1  [MS.—"  With  thee  these  pennons  will  I  share, 

Then  seek  my  trae-love  through  the  air."] 

■  [MS.—"  But  I'll  not  lend  that  savage  groom, 
To  hreak  his  fall  one  downy  plume ! 
Deep,  deep  'mid  yon  disjointed  stones, 
The  wolf  shall  batten  on  his  bones."] 

«  [MS.—"  Sweet  William  was  a  woodsman  true, 
He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away  I  "] 


186  THE   LADY    OF   THE   LAKE.      [CANTO  IV 

His  coat  it  was  all  of  the  greenwood  hue,' 
And  so  blithely  he  trill'd  the  Lowland  lay  ! 

"  It  was  not  that  I  meant  to  tell   .  .  . 
But  thou  art  wise  and  guesses t  well." 
Then,  in  a  low  and  broken  tone. 
And  hurried  note,  the  song  went  on. 
Still  on  the  Clansman,  fearfully. 
She  fixed  her  apprehensive  eye  ; 
Then  turn'd  it  on  the  Kjiight,  and  then 
Her  look  glanced  wildly  o'er  the  glen. 

XXV. 

.  "  The  toils  are  pitch'd,  and  the  stakes  are  set, 
^      Ever  sing  merrily,  merrily  ; 
The  bows  they  bend,  and  the  knives  they  whet, 
Hunters  live  so  cheerily. 

"  It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  of  ten,^ 

Bearing  its  branches  sturdily  ; 
He  came  stately  down  the  glen, 

Ever  sing  hardily,  hardily. 

"  It  was  there  he  met  with  a  wounded  do^ 

She  was  bleeding  deathfully  ; 
She  warn'd  him  of  the  toils  below, 

O,  so  faithfully,  faithfully ! 

1  [MS.—"  His  coat  was  of  the  forest  hue, 

And  sweet  he  sung  the  Lowland  lay."] 
*  Having  ten  branches  on  his  antlers. 


CANTO  IV  ]  THE    PROPHECY.  187 

"  He  had  an  eye,  and  he  could  heed. 

Ever  sing  warilj,  warily ; 
lie  had  a  foot,  and  he  could  speed — 

Hunters  watch  so  narrowly."^ 

XXVI. 

l''itz-James's  mind  was  passion-toss'd, 

Wlien  EUen's  hints  and  fears  were  lost ; 

But  Murdoch's  shout  suspicion  wrought, 

And  Blanche's  song  conviction  brought. — 

Not  like  a  stag  that  spies  the  snare, 

But  lion  of  the  hunt  aware,  , 

He  waved  at  once  his  blade  on  high, 

"  Disclose  thy  treachery,  or  die  !  "  ) 

Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  flew,* 

But  in  his  race  liis  bow  he  drew. 

The  shaft  just  grazed  Fitz-James's  crest, 

And  thiill'd  in  Blanche's  faded  breast,— 

Murdoch  of  Alpine !  prove  thy  speed. 

For  ne'er  had  Alpine's  son  such  need ! 

i  ["  No  machinery  can  be  conceived  more  clumsy  for  effect- 
ing the  deliverance  of  a  distressed  hero,  than  the  introduction 
of  a  mad  woman,  who,  without  knowing  or  caring  about  the 
wan  lerer,  warns  him  by  a  song,  to  take  care  of  the  ambush 
that  was  set  for  him.  The  maniacs  of  poetry  have  indeed 
had  a  prescriptive  right  to  be  musical,  since  the  days  of 
Opheha  downwards;  but  it  is  rather  a  rash  extension  of  this* 
privilege  to  make  them  sing  good  sense,  and  to  make  sensi- 
ble people  be  guided  by  them." — .Jeffrey.] 

3  [MS.—"  Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  weu** 
But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  bent, 
Halted — and  back  an  arrow  sent."] 


188  THE   LADY    OP   THE    LAKE,     [canto  IV 

With  heart  of  fire,  and  foot  of  wind, 

The  fierce  avenger  is  behind ! 

Fate  judges  of  the  rapid  strife — 

The  forfeit  death — the  prize  is  life  ! 

Thy  kindred  ambush  lies  before, 

Close  couch'd  upon  the  heathery  moor  ; 

Them  couldst  thou  reach  ! — it  may  not  be — ^ 

Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shiilt  see, 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee  ! 

— Resistless  speeds  the  deadly  thrust, 

As  lightning  strikes  the  pine  to  dust ; 

With  foot  and  hand  Fitz-James  must  strain, 

Ere  he  can  win  his  blade  again. 

Bent  o'er  the  fall'n,  with  falcon  eye,* 

He  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die ; 

Then  slower  wended  back  his  way, 

Where  the  poor  maiden  bleeding  lay. 

XXVIL 

She  sate  beneath  the  birchen-tree, 
Her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee  ; 
She  had  withdrawn  the  fatal  shaft, 
And  gazed  on  it,  and  feebly  laugh'd ; 


1  [MS, "  It  may  not  be — 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee, 

Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  see! 

Resistless  as  the  hglitniiig's  flame, 

The  thrust  betwixt  his  shoulder  came."  J 

*  [MS. — "  Then  o'er  him  hung,  with  falcon  eye, 
And  grimly  smil'd  to  see  him  die."] 


CAB-rOIV.]  THE    PROrHECY.  189 

Her  \vTeatli  of  broom  and  feathers  gray, 
Daggled  with  blood,  beside  her  lay. 
The  Knight  to  stanch  the  life-stream  tried,— 
«  Stranger,  it  is  in  vain  1 "  she  cried. 
«  This  hour  of  death  has  given  me  more 
Of  reason's  power  than  years  before ; 
For,  as  these  ebbing  veins  decay, 
My  frenzied  visions  fade  away. 
A  helpless  injured  wretch  I  die,^ 
And  something  tells  me  in  thine  eye, 
That  thou  wert  mine  avenger  born. — 
Seest  thou  this  tress  ?— O  !  still  I've  worn 
This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair. 
Through  danger,  frenzy,  and  despair! 
It  once  was  bright  and  clear  as  thine. 
But  blood  and  tears  have  dimm'd  its  shine. 
I  will  not  tell  thee  when  'twas  shred, 
Nor  from  what  guiltless  victun's  head — 
My  brain  would  turn  !— but  it  shaU  wave  « 
Like  plumage  on  thy  hehnet  brave. 
Till  sun  and  wind  shall  bleach  the  stain, 
And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again. — 
I  waver  still.— 0  God  !  more  bright 
Let  reason  beam  her  parting  light ! — 

0  !  by  thy  knighthood's  honour'd  sign, 
And  for  thy  life  preserved  by  mine, 
When  thou  shalt  see  a  darksome  man, 

1  [MS.—"  A  guiltless  injured  wretch  I  die.'  ) 

«  [MS.—"  But  uow,  my  champion  —it  shall  wave."] 


190  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CANTO  IV. 

Who  boasts  him  Chief  of  Alpine's  clan, 
With  tartans  broad  and  shadowy  plume, 
And  hand  of  blood,  and  brow  of  gloom. 
Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong, 
And  wreak  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong  1 — 
They  watch  for  thee  by  pass  and  fell  .  .  . 
Avoid  the  path  .  .  .  O  God !  .  .  .  farewell.** 

XXVIIL 

A  kindly  heart  had  brave  Fitz-James ; 

Fast  pour'd  his  eyes  at  pity's  claims, 

And  now  with  mingled  grief  and  ire. 

He  saw  the  murder'd  maid  expire. 

"  God,  in  my  need,  be  my  relief,^ 

As  I  wreak  this  on  yonder  Chief ! " 

A  lock  from  Blanche's  tresses  fair 

He  blended  with  her  bridegroom's  hair ; 

The  mingled  braid  in  blood  he  dyed, 

And  placed  it  on  his  bonnet-side : 

"  By  Him  whose  word  is  truth  !  I  swear 

No  other  favour  will  I  wear, 

Till  this  sad  token  I  imbrue 

In  the  best  blood  of  Roderick  Dhu  ! 

— But  hark  !  what  means  yon  fliint  halloo  ? 

The  chase  is  up, — but  they  shall  know, 

The  stag  at  bay's  a  dangerous  foe." 

Bai'r'd  from  the  known  but  guarded  way, 


[MS. — "  God  in  my  need,  to  me  lie  true, 

As  I  wreak  this  on  Roderick  Dhu.'  ] 


fAOTO  IV. J  THE    PROPHECY.  191 

Through  copse  and  cliff  Fitz-James  must  stray, 

And  oft  must  change  his  desperate  track. 

By  stream  and  precipice  turn'd  back. 

Heartless,  fatigued,  and  faint,  at  length, 

From  lack  of  food  and  loss  of  strength. 

He  couch'd  him  in  a  thicket  hoar. 

And  thought  his  toils  and  perils  o'er : — 

"  Of  all  my  rash  adventures  past, 

This  frantic  feat  must  prove  the  last  I 

Who  e'er  so  mad  but  might  have  guess'd. 

That  all  this  Highland  hornet's  nest 

Would  muster  up  in  swarms  so  soon 

As  e'er  they  heard  of  bands  at  Doune  ? — 

Like  bloodhounds  now  they  search  me  out, — 

Hai'k,  to  the  whistle  and  the  shout ! — 

If  further  through  the  wilds  I  go, 

i  only  fall  upon  the  foe : 

I'll  couch  me  here  till  evening  gray. 

Then  darkling  try  my  dangerous  way." 

XXIX. 

The  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down, 
The  woods  are  wrapt  in  deeper  brown. 
The  owl  awakens  from  her  dell, 
The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell ; 
Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light 
To  guide  the  wanderer's  steps  aright. 
Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 
His  figure  to  the  watchful  foe. 
With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awake, 


192  THE    LA.DY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTG IV. 

He  climbs  the  crag  and  threads  the  brake ; 
And  not  the  summer  solstice,  there, 
Temper'd  the  midnight  mountain  air, 
But  every  breeze,  that  swept  the  wold, 
Benumb'd  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold. 
In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone, 
Famish'd  and  chill'd,  through  ways  unknown. 
Tangled  and  steep,  he  journey'd  on ; 
Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turn'd, 
A  watch-fire  close  before  him  bum'd. 

XXX. 

Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear,* 

Bask'd,  in  his  plaid,  a  mountaineer ; 

And  up  he  sprung  with  sword  in  hand,— 

"  Thy  name  and  purpose  !  Saxon,  stand ! " 

**  A  stranger." — "  What  dost  thou  require  ?  *'— 

"  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 

My  life's  beset,  my  path  is  lost, 

The  gale  has  chill'd  my  hmbs  with  frost." 

«  Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick  ?  "— "  No." 

"  Thou  darest  not  call  thyself  a  foe  ?  " — 

"  I  dare  !  to  him  and  all  the  band  ^ 

He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  hand." — 

**  Bold  words  ! — but,  though  the  beast  of  game 

The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim, 

1  [MS. — "  By  the  decaying  flame  was  laid 

A  warrior  in  his  Highland  plaid."] 

2  [MS. — "  I  dare !  to  him  and  all  the  swarm 

He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  arm."J 


CANTO   IV.]  THE    PROPHECT.  193 

Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 

Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend, 

Who  ever  reck'd,  where,  how,  or  when, 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slain  ?  *  ^ 

Thus  treacherous  scouts,— yet  sure  they  lie, 

Who  say  thou  earnest  a  secret  spy  !  " 

"  They  do,  by  heaven !— Come  Roderick  Dhu, 

And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two. 

And  letlne  but  till  morning  rest, 

I  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest"— 

"  If  by  the.  blaze  I  mark  aright, 

Thou  bear'st  the  belt  and  spur  of  Knight." 

«  Then  by  these  tokens  mayest  thou  know 

Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe." — 

"  Enough,  enough  ;  sit  down  and  share 

A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare." 

XXXI. 

He  gave  him  of  his  Highland  cheer, 
The  harden'd  flesh  of  mountain  deer  ;  ^ 

1  St  John  actually  used  this  illustration  when  engaged  in 
confuting  the  plea  of  law  proposed  for  the  unfortunate  Earl 
of  Strafford:  "It was  true,  we  gave  laws  to  hares  and  deer, 
because  they  are  beasts  of  chase:  but  it  was  never  accounted 
either  cruelty  or  foul  play  to  knock  foxes  or  wolves  on  the 
head  as  thev  can  be  found,  because  they  are  beasts  of  prey. 
In  a  word,  the  law  and  humanity  were  alike;  the  one  being 
more  fallacious,  and  the  other  more  barbarous,  than  m  any 
age  had  been  vented  in  such  an  authority."— Clakesdon's 

Hutory  of  the  RebeUion.     Oxford,  1702,  fol.  vol.  p.  183. 
2  The  Scottish  Hishlanders,  in  former  times,  had  a  concise 

mode  of  cooking  their  venison,  or  rather  of  dispemmg  with 

13 


194  THE   LADY   OP   THE   LAKE.      [CAOTO IV. 

Dry  fuel  on  the  fire  he  laid, 

And  bade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid. 

cooking  it,  which  appears  greatly  to  have  surprised  the 
French  whom  chance  made  acquainted  with  it.  The  Vi- 
dame  of  Charters,  when  a  hostage  in  England,  during  the 
reign  of  Edward  VI.,  was  permitted  to  travel  into  Scotland, 
and  penetrated  as  far  as  to  the  remote  Highlands  {au  Jin  fond 
des  Sauvages) :  After  a  great  hunting  party,  at  which  a  most 
wonderful  quantity  of  game  was  destroyed,  he  saw  these 
Scottish  Savages  devour  a  part  of  their  veniso<4raw,  without 
any  further  preparation  then  compressing  it  between  two 
batons  of  wood,  so  as  to  force  out  the  blood,  and  render  it 
extremely  hard.  This  they  reckoned  a  great  delicacy  ;  and 
when  the  Vidame  partook  of  it,  his  compliance  with  their 
taste  rendered  him  extremely  popular.  This  curious  trait 
of  manners  was  communicated  by  Mons.  de  Montmorency, 
a  great  friend  of  the  Vidame,  to  Brantome,  by  Avhom  it  is 
recorded  in  Vies  des  Hommes  Illustres,  Discours,  Ixxxix.  art. 
14.  The  process  by  which  the  raw  venison  was  rendered 
eatable  is  described  very  minutely  in  the  romance  of  Perce- 
forest,  where  Estonne,  a  Scottish  knight-errant,  having  slain 
a  deer,  saj's  to  his  companion  Claudius :  "  Sire,  or  mange- 
rez  vous  et  mo\'  aussi.  Voire  si  nous  anions  de  feu,  dit 
Claudius.  Par  1'  ame  de  mon  pere,  dist  Estonne,  ie  vous 
atourneray  et  cuiray  a  la  maniere  de  nostre  pa\'s  comme 
pour  cheualier  errant.  Lors  tira  son  espee,  et  sen  vint  a  la 
branche  dung  arbre,  et  y  fait  vng  grant  trou,  et  puis  fend  la 
.iranche  bien  dieux  piedx,  et  boute  la  cuisse  du  cerf  entre- 
ileux,  et  puis  prentle  licol  de  son  cheval,  et  en  lye  la  branche, 
et  destraint  si  fort,  que  le  sang  et  les  humeurs  de  la  chair 
caillent  hors,  et  demeure  la  chaire  doulce  et  seiche.  Lors 
prent  la  chair,  et  oste  ius  le  cuir,  et  la  chaire  demeure  aussi 
blanche  comme  si  ce  feust  dung  chappon.  Dont  dist  a  Clau- 
dius, Sire,  ie  la  vous  ay  cuiste  a  la  guise  de  mon  pays,  vous 
ens  pouez  manger  hardyement,  car  ie  mangeray  premier. 
Lors  met  sa  main  a  sa  selle  en  vng  lieu  quil  y  auoit,  et  tire 
hors  se.  et  poudre  de  poiure  et  gingembre,  raesle  ensemble, 
et  le  iecte  dessus,  et  le  frote  sus  bien  fort,  puis  le  couppe  a 


rAHTO  IV.]  THE    PROPHECY.  195 

He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest, 
Then  thus  liis  further  speech  addressed. 
**  Stranger^  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 
A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true ; 
Each  word  against  his  honour  spoke, 
Demands  of  me  aven<j:in"j  stroke ; 
Yet  more, — upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said, 
A  mighty  augury  is  laid. 
It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn, — 
Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne ; 
It  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand. 
Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand : 

moytie,  et  en  donne  a  Claudius  Tune  des  pieces,  et  puis  mort 
en  I'autre  aussi  sauouresement  quil  est  aduis  que  il  en  feist 
la  pouldre  voller.  Quant  Claudius  veit  quil  le  mangeoit  de 
tel  goust,  il  en  print  grant  faim,  pt  commence  a  manger  tres- 
voulentiers,  et  dist  a  Estonne :  Par  I'ame  de  moy,  ie  ne  man- 
geay  oncquesmais  de  chair  atournee  de  telle  guise:  mais 
doresenauant  ie  ne  me  retoumcroye  pas  hors  de  mon  cliemin 
par  auoir  la  cuite.  Sire,  dist  E<tonue,  quant  is  suis  en  de- 
Bers  d'Escosse,  dont  ie  suis  seigneur,  ie  cheuaucheray  huit 
iours  ou  quinze  que  ie  d'entreray  en  chastel  ne  en  maison, 
et  si  ne  verray  feu  ne  personne  viuant  fors  que  bestes  sau- 
nages,  et  de  celles  mangera}-  alournees  en  ceste  maniere,  et 
mieulx  me  plaira  que  la  viaude  de  I'empereur.  Ainsi  sen 
vont  raangeant  et  cheuauchant  iusques  adonc  quilz  arriue- 
rent  sur  une  moult  belle  fontaine  que  estoit  en  vne  valee. 
Quant  Estonne  la  vit  il  dist  a  Claudius,  allons  boire  a  ceste 
fontaine.  Or  beuuons,  dist  Estonne,  du  boire  que  le  grant 
dieu  a  pourueu  a  toutes  gens,  et  que  me  plaist  mieulx  que 
les  ceruoises  d'  Angleterre." — La  Trtselegante  Hysloire  du 
n'eswidle  Roy  Perceforest.  Paris,  1531,  fol.  tome  i.  fol.  Iv.  vers. 
After  all,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  la  chaire  nngtree,  for 
BO  the  French  called  the  venison  thus  summarily  prepared, 
Hras  anv  thins:  more  than  a  mere  rude  kind  of  deer-ham. 


196  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       fCAKTO  IV 

But,  not  for  clan,  nor  kindred's  cause, 

Will  I  depart  from  honour's  laws  ; 

To  assail  a  weai-ied  man  were  shame, 

And  stranger  is  a  holy  name ; 

Guidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire, 

In  vain  he  never  must  require. 

Then  rest  thee  here  till  dawn  of  day ; 

Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way. 

O'er  stock  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Till  past  Clan-Alpine's  outmost  guard, 

As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford ; 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword." — 

"  I  take  thy  courtesy,  by  Heaven, 

As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given ! " — 

"  Well,  rest  thee  ;  for  the  bittern's  cry 

Sings  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby." 

With  that  he  shook  the  gather'd  heath, 

And  spread  his  plaid  upon  the  wreath ; 

And  the  brave  foemen,  side  by  side. 

Lay  peaceful  down  like  brothers  tried, 

And  slept  until  the  dawning  beam^ 

Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  stream. 

1  [MS. — "  And  slept  until  the  dawning  streak 
Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  lake."! 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE 


CANTO   FIFTH. 


THE    COMBAT. 


lADY    OF    THE    LAKE 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


THE   COMBAT. 


I. 
Fair  as  the  earliest  beam  of  eastern  light. 

When  first,  by  the  bewilder'd  pilgrim  spied, 
It  smiles  upon  the  dreary  brow  of  night,  ^ 

And  silvers  o'er  the  torrent's  foaming  tide, 
And  lights  the  fearful  path  on  mountain  side ;—  * 

Fair  as  that  beam,  although  the  fairest  far, 
Giving  to  horror  grace,  to  danger  pride. 

Shine  martial  Faith,  and  Courtes/s  bright  star, 
Through  all  the  wreckful  storms  that  cloud  the 
brow  of  War. 

1  [MS.—"  And  Ughts  the  fearful  way  along  it*  side."! 


200  THE   LADT    OP    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  V 

II. 

That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen, 
Was  twinkling  through  the  hazel  screen, 
When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 
The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed, 
Look'd  out  upon  the  dappled  sky, 
Mutter'd  their  soldier  matins  by. 
And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  steal, 
As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 
That  o'er,  the  Gael  ^  around  him'  threw 
His  graceful  plaid  of  varied  hue, 
And  true  to  promise,  led  the  way. 
By  thicket  green  and  mountain  gray. 
A  wildering  path  ! — they  winded  now 
Along  the  precipice's  brow. 
Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath. 
The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith, 
And  all  the  vales  between  that  lie, 
Till  Stirhng's  turrets  melt  in  sky  ; 
Then,  sunk  in  copse,  their  farthest  glance 
Gain'd  not  the  length  of  horseman's  lance. 
'Twas  oft  so  steep,  the  foot  was  fain 
Assistance  from  the  hand  to  gain  ; 
So  tangled  oft,  that,  bursting  through. 
Each  hawthorn  shed  her  showers  of  dew, — 
That  diamond  dew,  so  pure  and  clear, 
It  rivals  all  but  Beauty's  tear  ! 


1  The  Scottish  llighhander  calls  himself  Gael,  or  Gaul,  and 
•^  terms  the  Lowlanders,  Sassenach,  or  Saxons. 


CASTOV.]  THE    COilBAT.  201 

in. 
At  length  they  came  where,  stem  and  steep,* 
The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep. 
Here  Vennachar  in  silver  flows, 
There,  ridge  on  ridge,  Benledi  rose  ; 
Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on, 
Beneath  steep  bank  and  threatening  stone ; 
An  hundred  men  might  hold  the  post 
With  hardihood  against  a  host. 
The  rugged  mountain's  scanty  cloak 
Was  dwai-fish  shrubs  of  birch  and  oak.^ 
With  shingles  bare,  and  cliffs  between, 
And  patches  bright  of  bracken  green. 
And  heather  black,  that  waved  so  high, 
It  held  the  copse  in  rivaliy. 
But  where  the  lake  slept  deep  and  still, 
Dank  osiers  fringed  the  swamp  and  hill ; 
And  oft  both  path  and  hill  were  torn. 
Where  wintry  torrents  do^vn  had  borne, 
And  heap'd  upon  the  cumber'd  land 
Its  wreck  of  gravel,  rocks,  and  sand. 
So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace. 
The  guide  abating  of  his  pace. 
Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaws, 
And  ask'd  Fitz-James  by  what  strange  cause 

1  pis.—"  At  length  they  paced  the  mountain's  side, 

And  saw  beneath  the  waters  wide."] 
»  [MS.—"  The  rugged  mountain's  stunted  screen 

Was  dwarfish   i  ^^"""^^  I  with  cliffs  between.") 
(  copse  ) 


E02  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  V. 

He  sought  these  wilds  ?  traversed  by  few, 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

IV. 

"  Brave  Gael,  my  pass  ia  danger  tried, 
Hangs  in  my  belt,  and  by  my  side ; 
Yet,  sooth  to  tell,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  I  dreamt  not  now  to  claim  it&  aid.^ 
When  here,  but  three  days  since,  I  came, 
Bewilder'd  in  pursuit  of  game, 
All  seem'd  as  peaceful  and  a.s  still, 
As  the  mist  slumbering  on  yon  hill ; 
Thy  dangerous  Chief  vva3  then  afar, 
Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war. 
Thus  said,  at  least,  my  mountain-guide. 
Though  deep  perchance  the  ^^llain  lied.** — 
"  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try  ?  " — 
"  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why  !-c- 
Moves  our  free  course  by  such  tix'd  cause, 
As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws  ? 
Enough,  I  sought  to  drive  away 
The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day ; 
Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide 
A  Knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide, — ^ 
A  falcon  flown,  a  greyhound  stray'd. 
The  merry  glance  of  mountain  maid : 
Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known, 
Tlie  danger's  self  is  lure  alone." — 

^  [MS. — "  I  dreamed  not  now  to  draw  ray  blade."] 

^  TMS. — "  Mv  eirant  footsteps  )^  ,     -j    ,o 

A  r-  iM    I    n  1    •        f  far  and  wide."! 

A  kniKuL  3  bold  wanderings 


CAliTOV]  THE    COMBAT.  208 

V. 

"  Thy  secret  keep,  I  urge  thee  not ; — * 
Yet,  ere  again  ye  sought  this  spot, 
I    Say,  heard  ye  nought  of  Lowhind  war, 
<^ Against  Clan- Alpine,  rais'd  by  Mar  ?  ** 
~"  No,  by  my  word  ; — of  bands  prepared 
To  guard  King  James's  sports  I  heard ; 
Nor  doubt  I  aught,  but,  when  they  hear 
This  muster  of  the  mountaineer, 
Their  pennons  will  abroad  be  flung, 
"Which  else  in  Doune  had  peaceful  hung." — * 
"  Free  be  they  flung !  for  we  were  loth 
Their  silken  folds  should  feast  the  moth- 
Free  be  they  flung  I — as  free  shall  wave 
Clan- Alpine's  pine  in  banner  brave. 
But,  Stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came, 
Bewilder'd  in  the  mountain  game. 
Whence  the  bold  boast  by  which  you  show 
Vich  Alpine's  vow'd  and  mortal  foe  ?  " — 
**  "Warrior,  but  yester-mom,  I  knew 
Nought  of  thy  Chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 
Save  as  an  outlaw'd  desperate  man, 
Tlie  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan, 
Who,  in  the  Regent's  court  and  sight. 
With  rufEan  dagger  stabb'd  a  knight : 
Yet  tliis  alone  might  from  his  part 
Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart-'* 


1  [MS.—"  Thy  secret  keep,  I  ask  it  not."] 

«  IMS.—**  Which  else  in  ball  had  peaceful  hung."] 


\ 


204  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  V. 

VI. 

Wrotliful  at  such  arraignment  foul, 
Dark  lowerM  the  clansman's  sable  scowl. 
A  space  he  paused,  then  sternly  said, 
"  And  heard'st  thou  why  he  drew  his  blade  ? 
Heard'st  thou  that  shameful  word  and  blow 
Brought  Roderick's  vengeance  on  his  foe  ? 
What  reck'd  the  Chieftain  if  he  stood 
On  Highland  heath,  or  Holy- Rood  ? 
He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given, 
If  it  were  in  the  wurt  of  heaven." — 
"  Still  was  it  outrage  ; — yet,  'tis  true, 
Not  then  claim'd  sovereignty  his  due  ; 
While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand, 
Held  borrow'd  truncheon  of  command, 
The  young  King,  mew'd  in  Stirling  tower, 
Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power.^ 

1  There  is  scarcely  a  more  disorderly  period  in  Scottish 
history  than  that  which  succeeded  the  battle  of  Flodden,  and 
occupied  the  minority  of  James  V.  Feuds  of  ancient  stand- 
ing broke  out  like  old  wounds,  and  every  quarrel  among  the 
independent  nobility,  which  occurred  daily,  and  almost 
hourly,  gave  rise  to  fresh  bloodshed.  "  There  arose,"  says 
Pitscottie,  "  great  trouble  and  deadly  feuds  in  many  parts  of 
Scotland,  both  in  the  north  and  west  parts.  The  Master  of 
Forbes,  in  the  north,  slew  the  Laird  of  Meldrum,  under 
tryst;  "  (i.  e.  at  an  agreed  and  secure  meeting :)  "  Likewise, 
the  Laird  of  Drummelzier  slew  the  Lord  Fleming  at  the  hawk- 
ing ;  and,  likewise  there  was  slaughter  among  many  other  great 
lords."  P.  121.  Nor  was  the  matter  much  mended  under  the 
government  of  the  Earl  of  Angus :  for  though  he  caused  the 
King  to  ride  through  all  Scotland,  "  under  the  pretence  and 
colour  of  justice,  to  punish  thief  and  traitor,   none  wertf 


CAXTO  v.]  THE    C03IBAT.  205 

But  then,  thy  Chieftain's  robber  life ! — 
Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife, 
Wrenching  from  ruin'd  Lowland  swain 
His  herds  and  harvest  rear'd  in  vain. — 
Methinks  a  soul,  like  thine,  should  scorn 
The  spoils  from  such  foul  foray  borne." 

VII. 

The  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while, 
And  answered  with  disdainful  smile, — 
"  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high, 
I  mark'd  thee  send  delighted  eye, 
Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 
Extended  in  succession  gay, 
Deep  Avaving  fields  and  pastures  green, 
With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between : — 
These  fertile  plains,  that  soften'd  vale. 
Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael ; 
The  stranger  came  with  iron  hand, 
And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 
Where  dwell  we  now  !  See  rudely  swell 
Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 
Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread. 
For  fatten'd  steer  or  household  bread ; 

found  greater  than  ^vere  in  their  own  company.  And  none 
at  that  time  durst  strive  with  a  Douglas,  nor  yet  a  Douglas's 
man ;  for  if  they  would,  they  got  the  worst.  Therefore,  nono 
durst  plainzie  of  no  extortion,  theft,  reiff,  nor  slaughter,  done 
to  them  by  the  Douglases,  or  their  men ;  in  that  cause  they 
were  not  heard,  so  long  as  the  Douglas  had  the  court  in  gaid 
ing."— 7i«Z.  p.  133. 


206  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  V. 

A?k  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, 

And  well  the  mountain  might  reply, — 

*  To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore. 

Belong  the  target  and  claymore  ! 

I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast. 

Your  own  good  blades  must  win  the  rest-* 

Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 

Think'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth, 

To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may, 

And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey  ? 

Ay,  by  my  soul ! — While  on  yon  plain 

The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain ; 

While,  of  ten  thousand  herds,  there  strays 

But  one  along  yon  river's  maze, — 

The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 

Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share. 

Where  live  the  mountain  Chiefs  who  hold. 

That  plundermg  Lowland  field  and  fold 

Is  aught  but  retribution  true? 

Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu." — * 

1  The  ancient  Highlanders  verified  in  their  practice  the 
linea  of  Gray : — 

"  An  iron  race  the  mountain  cliff's  maintain, 
Foes  to  the  gentler  genius  of  the  plain ; 
For  where  unwearied  sinews  must  be  found, 
With  side-long  plough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground; 
To  turn  the  torrent's  swift  descending  flood; 
To  brave  the  savage  rushing  from  the  wood; 
What  wonder  if,  to  patient  valour  train'd. 
They  guard  with  spirit  what  by  strength  they  gain'd: 


BAJfTO   v.]  THE    COMBAT.  207 

VIII. 

Answer'd  Fitz-.Tames, — "  And,  if  I  sought, 
Think'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought? 
What  deem  je  of  my  path  waylaid  ? 
My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  ?  " — 
"  As  of  a  meed  to  rashness  due : 
Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, — 
I  seek  my  hound,  or  falcon  strayed, 
I  seek,  good  faith,  a  Highland  maid, — 

And  while  their  rocky  ramparts  round  they  see 
The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty, 
(As  lawless  force  from  confidence  will  grow,) 
Insult  the  plenty  of  the  vales  below  ?  " 

Fragmtni  on  the  Alliance  of  Education 
and  Goveimment. 

So  far,  indeed,  was  a  Creagh,  or  foray,  from  being  held 
disgraceful,  that  a  young  chief  was  always  expected  to  show 
his  talents  for  command  so  soon  as  he  assumed  it,  by  leading 
his  clan  on  a  successful  enterprise  of  this  nature,  either 
against  a  neighbouring  sept,  for  which  constant  feuds  usually 
furnished  an  apology,  or  against  the  Sassenach,  Saxons,  or 
Lowlanders,  for  which  no  apology  was  necessary.  The  Gael, 
great  traditional  historians,  never  forgot  that  the  Lowlands 
had,  at  some  remote  period,  been  the  property  of  their  Celtic 
forefathers,  which  furnished  an  ample  vindication  of  all  the 
ravages  that  they  could  make  on  the  unfortunate  districts 
which  lay  within  their  reach.  Sir  James  Grant  of  Grant  is 
i  1  possession  of  a  letter  of  apology  from  Cameron  of  L/)chiel, 
i^hose  men  had  committed  some  depredation  upon  a  farm 
called  Moines,  occupied  by  one  of  the  Grants.  Lochiel  as- 
jjures  Grant,  that,  however  the  mistake  had  happened,  his 
iustruct-ons  were  precise,  that  the  party  shcr:Id  foray  the 
province  of  Moray,  (a  Lowland  district,)  where,  as  he  coolly 
>b6er\'es,  "  all  men  take  their  prey." 


208  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CANTO  V. 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go ; 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 

Nor  yet,  for  this,  even  as  a  spy, 

Hadst  thou,  unheard,  been  doom'd  to  die, 

Save  to  fulfil  an  augury." — 

"  Well,  let  it  pass  ;  nor  will  I  now 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow, 

To  chafe  thy  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow. 

Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride : 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan- Alpine's  glen 

In  peace ;  but  when  I  come  agen, 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow, 

As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe. 

For  love-lorn  swain,  in  lady's  bower, 

Ne*er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 

As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

This  rebel  Chieftain  and  his  band  !  "  ^ 

IX. 

*<  Have,  then,  thy  wish !  " — he  whistled  shrill, 
And  he  was  answer'd  from  the  hill ; 
Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew. 
From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew.^ 
Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 
Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows : 

1  [MS.—"  This  dark  Sir  Roderick  )        , , .    ^      , .. 
rr..  •  /-ii  •  A  •      >-  and  bis  band. 

This  savage  Chieftam  j 

*  [MS. — "  From  copse  to  copse  the  signal  flew, 

Instant,  through  copse  ana  crags  arose."] 


CANTO  v.]  THE    COMBAT.  209 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 
Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe ; 
From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start, 
The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart,' 
The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 
Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand. 
And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life  ^ 
To  plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 
That  whistle  garrison'd  the  glen 
At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men, 
As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 
A  subterranean  host  had  given.* 
Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  wiU,* 
All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still. 

i  [MS. — "  The  bracken  bush  shoots  forth  the  dart."] 
2  [MS. — "  And  each  lone  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 
To  plated  vramor  ann'd  for  strife. 
That  whistle  manned  (he  lonely  glen 
With  full  five  hundred  armed  men."] 
8  [The  Monthly  reviewer  says — "  We  now  come  to  tho 
chef-dcesuvre  of  Walter  Scott, — a  scene  of  more  vigour,  nature, 
and  animation,  than  any  other  in  all  liis  poetry."    Another 
anonymous  critic  of  the  poem  is  not  afraid  to  quote,  with 
reference  to  the  effect  of  this  passage,  the  sublime  language 
of  the  Prophet  Ezekiel:   "Then  said  he  unto  me,  Prophesy 
unto  the  wind,  prophesy,  son  of  man,  and  say  to  tlie  wicd 
Thus  saith  the  Lord  God;    Come  from  the  four  winds,  0 
breath,  and  breathe  upon  these  slain,  that  they  may  live. 
Bo  I  prophesied  as  he  commanded  me,  and  the  breath  came 
.nto  them,  and  they  lived,  and  stood  up  upon  their  feet,  an 
exceeding  great  army." — Chap,  xxxvii.  v.  9,  10. 
*  [MS. — "  All  silent,  too,  they  stood,  and  still. 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  v/ill. 
While  forward  step  and  weapon  show 
14 


210  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  V. 

Like  the  loose  crags  whose  threatening  mass 
Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass, 
As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 
Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 
With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 
Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 
The  Mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 
Along  Benledi's  living  side, 
Then  fix'd  his  eye  and  sable  brow 
Full  on  Fitz-James — "  How  say'st  thou  now? 
These  are  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true  ; 
And,  Saxon, — I  am  Roderick  Dhu ! " 

X. 

Fitz-James  was  brave : — ^Though  to  his  heart 

The  life-blood  thrill'd  with  sudden  start, 

He  mann'd  himself  with  dauntless  air, 

Return'd  the  Chief  his  haughty  stare, 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore. 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before  : — 

"  Come  one,  come  all !  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I." 

Sir  Roderick  mark'd — and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise. 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Short  space  he  stood — then  waved  his  hand ; 

They  long  to  rush  upon  the  foe, 

Like  the  loose  crag,  whose  tottering  mass 

HuDg  threatening  o'er  the  hollow  pass."] 


CAaro  v.]  THE    COilBAT.  211 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band  ; 
Each  warrior  vanish'd  where  he  stood. 
In  broom  or  bracken,  lieath  or  wood ; 
Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow, 
In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low  ; 
It  seem'd  as  if  their  mother  Earth 
Had  swallow'd  up  her  warlike  birth ; 
The  wind's  last  breath  had  toss'd  in  air, 
Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair, — 
The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side, 
Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide ; 
The  sun's  last  glance  had  glinted  back, 
From  spear  and  glaive,  from  targe  and  jaci 
The  next,  all  unreflected,  shone 
On  bracken  green,  and  cold  gray  stone. 

XI. 

Fitz-James  look'd  round — yet  scarce  believed 
The  witness  that  his  sight  received  ; 
Such  apparition  well  might  seem 
Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 
Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed, 
And  to  his  look  the  Chief  replied, 
"  Fear  nought — nay,  that  I  need  not  say — 
But — doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 
Thou  art  my  guest ; — I  pledged  my  word 
As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford  : 
Nor  would  I  cidl  a  clansman's  brand 
For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand,^ 
1  [MS. — "  Por  aid  against  one  brcne  man's  hand.**! 


212  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [C.LNTO  V 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 
Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael.^ 
So  move  we  on ; — I  only  meant 
To  si  low  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dim."  ^ 

1  ["  This  scene  is  excellently  described.  The  frankness 
and  high-souled  courage  of  the  two  warriors, — the  reliance 
which  the  Lowlander  places  on  the  word  of  the  Highlander 
to  guide  him  safely  on  his  way  the  next  morning,  although 
he  has  spoken  threatening  and  violent  words  against  Rod- 
erick, whose  kinsman  the  mountaineer  professes  himself  to 
be, — these  circumstances  are  all  admirably  imagined  and 
related." — Monthly  Review.'] 

2  This  incident,  like  some  other  passages  in  the  poem,  illus- 
trative of  the  character  of  the  ancient  Gael,  is  not  imaginary, 
but  borrowed  from  fact.  The  Highlanders,  with  the  incon- 
sistency of  most  nations  in  the  same  state,  were  alternately 
capable  of  great  exertions  of  generosity',  and  of  cruel  revenge 
and  perfidy.  The  following  story  I  can  only  quote  from  tra- 
dition, but  with  such  an  assurance  from  those  by  whom  it 
was  communicated,  as  pei-mits  me  little  doubt  of  its  authen- 
ticity. Early  in  the  last  century,  John  Gunn,  a  noted  Cate- 
ran,  or  Highland  robber,  infested  Inverness-shire,  and  levied 
black-mail  up  to  the  walls  of  the  provincial  capital.  A  gan-i- 
son  was  then  maintained  in  the  castle  of  that  town,  and  theii 
pay  (countr}'  banks  being  unknown)  was  usually  transmitted 
in  specie,  under  the  guard  of  a  small  escort.  It  chanced  that 
the  officer  who  commanded  this  little  party  was  unexpectedly 
obliged  to  halt,  about  thirt}'  miles  from  Inverness,  at  a  mis- 
erable inn.  About  nightfall,  a  stranger,  in  the  Highland 
dress,  and  of  very  prepossessing  appearance,  entered  the 
same  house.  Separate  accommodation  being  impossible,  the 
Englishman  offered  the  newly-arrived  guest  a  part  of  hii 
Bupper,  which  was  accepted  with  reluctance.  By  the  con- 
versation he  found  his  new  acquaintance  knew  well  all  th« 


CANTO  v.]  THE    COMBAT.  213 

They  moved : — I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave, 
As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive  ; 
Yet  dare  not  saj,  that  now  his  blood 
Kept  on  its  wont  and  temper'd  flood, 
As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 
That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through. 
Which  yet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife 
With  lances,  that,  to  take  his  life. 
Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide. 
So  late  dishonour'd  and  defied. 
Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eye  sought  round 
The  vanish'd  guardians  of  the  ground, 

passes  of  the  country,  which  induced  him  eagerly  to  request 
his  company  on  the  ensuing  morning.  He  neither  disguised 
his  business  and  charge,  nor  his  apprehensions  of  that  cele- 
brated freebooter,  Jolm  Gunn.  The  Highlander  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  frankly  consented  to  be  his  guide.  Forth 
they  set  in  the  morning;  and,  in  trn veiling  through  a  solitary 
and  dreary  glen,  the  discourse  again  turaed  on  John  Gunn. 
"  Would  you  like  to  see  him? "  said  the  guide;  and, -without 
waiting  an  answer  to  this  alanning  question,  he  whistled, 
and  the  English  oflBcer,  with  his  small  party,  were  surrounded 
by  a  body  of  Highlanders,  whose  numbers  put  resistance  out 
of  question,  and  who  were  all  well  armed.  "  Stranger,"  re- 
sumed the  guide,  "  I  am  that  very  Jolm  Guim  by  whom  you 
feared  to  be  intercepted,  and  not  without  cause ;  for  I  came 
to  the  inn  last  night  with  the  express  purpose  of  learning 
your  route,  that  I  and  my  followers  might  ease  you  of  your 
charge  by  the  road.  But  I  am  incapable  of  betraying  the 
trast  you  reposed  in  me,  and  having  convinced  you  that  you 
•were  in  my  power,  I  can  only  dismiss  you  unplundered  and 
uninjured."  He  then  gave  the  officer  directions  for  his  jour- 
ney, and  disappeared  with  his  party,  as  suddenly  as  they 
tutd  presented  themselves. 


214  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [cANTO  V. 

And  Still,  from  copse  and  heather  deep. 
Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep,* 
And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain, 
The  signal  whistle  heard  again. 
Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 
The  pass  was  left ;  for  then  they  wind 
Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 
Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 
Nor  rush  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near, 
To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear. 

XIL 

The  Chief  in  silence  strode  before, 

And  reach'd  that  torrent's  sounding  shore, 

"Which,  daughter  of  three  mighty  lakes, 

From  Vennachar  in  silver  breaks, 

Sweeps  through  the  plain,  and  ceaseless  mines 

On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines,^ 

Where  Rome,  the  Empress  of  the  world. 

Of  yore  her  eagle  wings  unfurl'd.^ 

1  [MS. — "And  still  from  copse  and  heather  bush, 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  rush."] 

2  [MS. — *'  On  Bochastle  the  martial  lines."] 

8  The  torrent  which  discharges  itself  from  Loch  Vennachar, 
the  lowest  and  eastmost  of  the  three  lakes  which  form  the 
scenery  r.:ljoining  to  the  Trosachs,  sweeps  through  a  flat 
nnd  extensive  moor,  called  Bochastle.  Upon  a  small  emi- 
uence,  called  the  Dun  of  Bochastle,  and  indeed  on  the  plain 
itself,  are  some  intrenchments,  which  have  been  thought  Ro- 
man. There  is,  adjacent  to  Callender,  a  sweet  villa,  the 
residence  of  Captain  Fairfuul,  entitled  the  Roman  Camp. 

["  One  of  the  most  entire  and  beautiful  remains  of  a  Ro- 


PAjrrov.]  THE    COilBAT.  215 

And  here  his  course  the  Chieftain  staid, 
Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid. 
And  to  the  Lowland  warrior  said : — 
*'  Bold  Saxon  !  to  his  promise  just, 
Yich- Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 
This  murderous  Chief,  this  ruthless  man, 
This  head  of  a  rebelHous  clan, 
Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward, 
Far  past  Clan- Alpine's  outmost  guard. 
Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 
A  Chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel ; 
See  here,  all  vantageless  I  stand, 
Arm'd  like  thyself,  with  single  brand  :  ^ 

man  encampment  now  to  be  found  in  Scotland,  is  to  be  seen 
at  Ardoch,  near  Greenloaning,  about  six  miles  to  the  east- 
ward of  Dunblane.  This  encampment  is  supposed,  on  good 
grounds,  to  have  been  constructed  during  the  fourth  campaign 
of  Agricola  in  Britain;  it  is  1,060  feet  in  length,  and  900  in 
breadth ;  it  could  contain  26,000  men,  according  to  the  ordi- 
nary distribution  of  the  Roman  soldiers  in  their  encampments. 
There  appears  to  have  been  three  or  four  ditches,  strongly 
fortified,  surrounding  the  camp.  The  four  entries  crossing 
the  lines  are  still  to  be  seen  distinctly.  The  general 's  quarter 
rises  above  the  level  of  the  camp,  but  is  not  exactly  in  the 
centre.  It  is  a  regular  square  of  twenty  yards,  enclosed  with 
A  stone  wall,  and  containing  the  foundations  of  a  house,  30 
feet  by  20.  There  is  a  subterraneous  communication  with  a 
smaller  encampment  at  a  little  distance,  in  which  several 
Boman  helmets,  spears,  &c.  have  been  found.  From  thii 
camp  at  Ardoch,  the  great  Roman  highway  runs  east  to  Ber 
tha,  about  fourteen  miles  distant,  where  the  Roman  army  ii 
\)elieved  to  have  passed  over  the  Tay  into  Strathmore.' 
—Graham.] 
*  [See  Appendix,  Note  N.] 


216  THE    LADT    OF   THE    LAKE.       [cANTO  V. 

For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 

And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword.**^ 


XIII. 

The  Saxon  paused  :  "  I  ne'er  dela/d, 

When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade ; 

Nay,  more,  brave  Chief,  I  vowed  thy  death ; 

Yet  sure  thy  feir  and  generous  faith, 

And  my  deep  debt  for  life  preserved, 

A  better  meed  have  well  deserved  : 

Can  nought  but  blood  our  feud  atone  ? 

Are  there  no  means  ?  " — "  No,  Stranger,  none 

And  here, — to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal, — 

The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel ; 

For  thus  spoke  Fate,  by  prophet  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead  ; 

*  AYho  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  Hfe, 

His  party  conquers  in  the  strife.' " — 

"  Then,  by  my  word,"  the  Saxon  said, 

"  The  riddle  is  already  read. 

Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff, — 

There  lies  Red  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 

Thus  Fate  has  solved  her  prophecy, 

Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me. 

To  James,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go, 

"When,  if  thou  wilt  be  still  his  foe, 

Or  if  the  King  shall  not  agree 

To  grant  thee  grace  and  favour  free, 

I  plight  mine  honour,  oath,  and  word, 

That  to  thy  native  strengths  restored, 


c 


CAXTO  v.]  THE    COilBAT.  217 

With  each  advantage  shalt  thou  stand, 
That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  land.** 

XIV. 

Dark  lightning  flashed  from  Roderick's  eye — ' 
"  Soars  thy  presumption,  then,  so  high, 
Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew. 
Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dhu  ? 
He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  Fate !  ^ 
Thou  add'st  but  fuel  to  my  hate : — 
My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge. 
Not  yet  prepared  ? — By  Heaven  I  change 
My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valour  light 
As  that  of  some  vain  carpet  knight, 
Who  ill  deserved  my  courteous  care, 
And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 
A  braid  of  his  fair  ladj-'s  hair." — 
— "  I  thank  thee,  Roderick,  for  the  word ! 
It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword ; 
For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 
In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 
Now,  truce,  farewell !  and,  ruth,  begone ! — 
Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone. 
Proud  Chief!  can  courtesy  be  shown  ; 
Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn. 
Start  at  my  whistle  clansmen  stern, 
Of  this  small  hora  one  feeble  blast 
Would  fearful  odds  against  thee  cast. 

i  [MS.— "In  lightning  flash'd  the  Chiefs  dark  eye."] 
*  £MS. — "  He  stoops  not^  he,  to  James  nor  Fate."] 


218  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CAXTO  V. 

But  fear  noi — doubt  not — which  thou  Vv^ilt — 
We  try  this  quarrel  hilt  to  hilt." 
Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew, 
Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw, 
Each  look'd  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again ; 
Then  foot,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed. 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed.-^ 

XV. 

Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw,^ 

1  ["  The  two  pi'incipal  figures  are  contrasted  with  uncom- 
mon felicity.  Fitz-Jumes,  who  more  nearly  resembles  the 
French  Henry  the  Fourth  than  the  Scottish  James  V.,  is  gay, 
amorous,  fickle,  intrepid,  impetuous,  affectionate,  courteous, 
graceful,  and  dignified.  Roderick  is  gloomy,  vindictive, 
arrogant,  undaunted,  but  constant  in  his  affections,  and  true 
to  his  engagements;  and  the  whole  passage  in  which  these 
personages  are  placed  in  opposition,  from  their  first  meeting  to 
thei'-  final  conflict,  is  conceived  and  written  with  a  sublimity 
which  has  been  rarely  equalled." —  Quarterly  Review^  1810.] 

2  A  round  target  of  light  wood,  covered  with  strong  leather 
Mid  studded  with  brass  or  iron,  was  a  necessary  part  of  a 
Highlander's  equipment.  In  charging  regular  troops,  they 
received  the  thrust  of  the  bayonet  in  this  buckler,  twisted  it 
aside,  and  used  the  broadsword  against  the  encumbered 
Boldier.  In  the  civil  war  of  1745,  most  of  the  front  rank  of 
the  clans  w?re  thus  armed:  and  Captain  Grose  informs  us, 
that,  in  1747  the  privates  of  the  42d  regiment,  then  in  Flan- 
ders, were  for  the  most  part  permitted  to  carry  targets.— 
Military  Antiquities,  vol.  i.  p.  164.  A  person  thus  armed  had 
%  considerable  advantage  in  private  fray.  Among  verses 
between  Swift  and  Sheridan,  lately  published  by  Dr.  Barret; 


CASTO  V.J  THE    COMBAT.  219 

TThose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-hide 
Had  death  so  often  dash'd  aside ; 
For,  train'd  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz-James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield.* 

there  is  an  account  of  such  an  encounter,  in  which  th*  cir- 
cumstances, and  consequently  the  relative  superiority  of  the 
combatants,  are  precisely  the  reverse  of  those  in  the  text: — 

"  A  Highlander  once  fought  a  Frenchman  at  Margate, 
The  weapons,  a  rapier,  a  backsword,  and  target; 
Brisk  Monsieur  advanced  as  Cist  as  he  could, 
But  all  his  fine  pushes  were  caught  in  tiie  wood, 
And  Sawney,  with  back-word,  did  slash  him  and  nick  bim^ 
While  t'other,  enraged  that  he  could  not  once  prick  him, 
Cried, '  Sirrah,  you  rascal,  j-ou  son  of  a  whore, 
Me  will  fight  you,  be  gar !  if  you'll  come  from  your  door  '  " 

1  The  use  of  defensive  armour,  and  particularly  of  the 
buckler  or  target,  was  general  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time, 
although  that  of  the  single  rapier  seems  to  have  been  occa 
Bionally  practised  much  earlier."^  Rowland  Yorke,  however, 
who  betrayed  the  fort  of  Zutphen  to  the  Spaniards,  for  which 
good  service  he  was  aftenvards  poisoned  by  them,  is  said  to 
have  been  the  first  who  brought  the  rapier-fight  into  general 
use.  Fuller,  speaking  of  the  swash  bucklers,  or  bullies,  of 
Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  says — "  West  Smithfield  was  for- 
merly called  Euffian's  Hall,  where  such  men  usually  met, 
casually  or  otherwise,  to  try  masteries  with  sword  and  buckler. 
Alore  were  frightened  than  hurt,  more  hurt  than  killed  there- 
with it  being  accounted  unmanly  to  strike  beneath  the  knee. 
But  since  that  desperate  traitor  Rowland  Yorke  first  intro- 
duced thrusting  with  rapiers,  sword  and  buckler  are  disused." 
In  ''  The  Two  Angry  Women  of  Abingdon,"  a  comedy,  print- 
ed in  1599,  we  have  a  pathetic  complaint: — "Sword  and 
buckler  fight  begins  to  grow  out  of  use.    1  am  sorry  for  it- 

2  See  Douce's  Dlustrations  of  Shakspeare,  vol.  u.  p.  61. 


220  THE    LADY    OP    THE    LAKE.      [CAKTO  V. 

He  practised  every  pass  and  ward, 
To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard ; 
While  less  expert,  though  stronger  far. 
The  Gael  maintain'd  unequal  war.* 
Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood, 
And  thrice  the  Saxon  blade  drank  blood  ; 
No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide. 
The  gushing  flood  the  tartans  dyed. 
Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain, 
And  shower'd  his  blows  like  wintry  rain ; 
And,  as  firm  rock,  or  castle-roof. 
Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof, 

I  shall  never  see  good  manhood  again.  If  it  be  once  gone,  this 
poking  fight  of  rapier  and  dagger  will  come  up ;  then  a  tall 
man  and  a  good  sword-and-buckler  man,  will  be  spitted  like 
a  cat  or  rabbit."  But  the  rapier  had  upon  the  continent 
long  superseded,  in  private  duel,  tha  use  of  sword  and  shield. 
The  masters  of  the  noble  science  of  defence  were  chiefly 
Italians.  They  made  great  mystery  of  their  art  and  mode 
of  instruction,  never  sufiered  any  person  to  be  present  but 
the  scholar  who  was  to  be  taught,  and  even  examined  closets, 
beds,  and  other  places  of  possible  concealment.  Their  les- 
sons often  gave  the  most  treacherous  advantages ;  for  the 
challenger,  having  the  right  to  choose  his  weapons,  frequently 
selected  some  strange,  unusual,  and  inconvenient  kind  of 
arms,  the  use  of  whicli  he  practised  under  these  instructors, 
and  thus  killed  at  his  ease  his  antagonist,  to  whom  it  was 
presented  for  the  first  time  on  the  field  of  battle.  See  Bran- 
tome's  Discourse  on  Duels,  and  the  work  on  the  same  subject, 
"«  gentemcnt  ecrit,''  by  the  venerable  Dr.  Paris  de  Puteo. 
The  Highlanders  continued  to  use  broadsword  and  target 
until  disarmed  after  the  afiair  of  1745-6. 
1  [MS. — "  Not  Roderick  thus,  though  stronger  far. 
More  tall,  and  more  inured  to  war."] 


OASTO  v.]  THE    CO^rBAT.  221 

The  foe,  invulnerable  still, 
Foil'd  his  wild  rage  by  steady  skill ; 
Till,  at  advantage  ta'en.  his  brand 
Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand. 
And  backward  borne  upon  the  lea, 
Brought  the  proud  Chieftain  to  his  knee.* 

XVI. 

"  Now,  j-ield  thee,  or  by  Hun  who  made 
The  world,  thy  heart's  blood  dyes  my  blade !  ** — 
"  Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  I  defy  I 
ILret  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die."  ^ 

1  [This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS.] 

*  I  have  not  ventured  to  render  this  duel  so  savagely  des- 
perate as  that  of  the  celebrated  Sir  Ewan  of  Lochiel,  chief 
of  the  clan  Cameron,  called  from  his  sable  complexion,  Ewan 
Dhu.  He  was  the  last  man  in  Scotland  who  maintained  the 
royal  cause  during  the  great  Civil  War,  and  his  constant 
incursions  rendered  him  a  very  unpleasant  neighbour  to  the 
repubhcan  garrison  at  Inverlochy,  now  Fort- William.  The 
governor  of  the  fort  detached  a  party  of  three  hundred  men 
to  lay  waste  Lochiel's  possessions,  and  cut  down  his  trees: 
but,  in  a  sudden  and  desperate  attack  made  upon  them  by 
the  chieftain  with  very  inferior  numbers,  they  were  almost 
all  cut  to  pieces.  The  skirmish  is  detailed  in  a  curious  me- 
moir of  Sir  Ewan's  life,  printed  in  the  Appendix  of  Pennant's 
Scottish  Tour. 

"In  this  engagement,  Lochiel  himself  had  several  wonder- 
ful escapes.  In  the  retreat  of  the  English,  one  of  the  strong- 
est and  bravest  of  the  officers  retired  behind  a  bush,  when 
he  observed  Lochiel  pursuing,  and  seeing  him  unaccompanied 
with  any,  he  leapt  out,  and  thought  him  his  prey.  They 
met  one  another  with  equal  fury.  'J  lie  combat  was  long  and 
doubtful;  the  EngUbh  gentleman  had  by  far  the  advantJige 


222  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       [CAMTO  V 

— Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil, 
Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young, 
Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung ;  i 
Received,  but  reck'd  not  of  a  wound, 
And  lock'd  his  arms  his  foeman  round. — 
Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own ! 
No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown  ! 
That  desperate  grasp  thy  frame  might  feel. 
Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel ! — 
They  tug,  they  strain  !  down,  down  they  go, 
The  Gael  above,  Fitz-James  below. 
The  Chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  corapress'd 
His  knee  was  planted  in  his  breast ; 
His  clotted  locks  he  backward  threw, 
Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew. 
From  blood  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight, 
Then  gleam'd  aloft  his  dagger  bright  j — 

In  strength  and  size ;  but  Lochiel,  exceeding  him  in  nimble- 
ness  and  agility,  in  the  end  tript  the  sword  out  of  his  hand: 
they  closed  and  wrestled,  till  both  fell  to  the  ground  in  each 
other's  arms.  The  Knglish  officer  got  above  Lochiel,  and 
pressed  him  hard,  but  stretching  forth  his  neck,  by  attempt- 
ing to  disengage  himself,  Lochiel,  who  by  this  time  had  his 
hands  at  liberty,  with  his  left  hand  seized  him  by  the  collar, 
and  jumping  at  his  extended  throat,  he  bit  it  with  his  teeth 
quite  through,  and  kept  such  a  hold  of  his  grasp,  that  he 
brought  away  his  mouthful:  this,  he  said,  teas  the  sweetest  Hi 
he  ever  had  in  his  lifetime.'''' — Vol.  i.  p.  375- 

^  [MS. — "  '  Yield  they  alone  who  fear  to  die.' 

Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young. 
Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  spmng."] 


■AjrrOY.]  THE    COMBAT.  223 

— But  hate  and  fury  ill  supplied 
The  stream  of  life's  exhausted  tide. 
And  all  too  late  the  advantage  came. 
To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game  ; 
For,  while  the  dagger  gleam'd  on  high, 
Reel'd  soul  and  sense,  reel'd  brain  and  eye. 
Down  came  the  blow !  but  in  the  heath 
The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 
The  struggling  foe  may  now  unclasp 
The  fainting  Chief's  relaxing  gi'asp; 
Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 
But  breathless  all,  Fitz-James  arose.^ 

xvn. 
He  falter'd  thanks  to  Heaven  for  life, 
Redeem'd,  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife  ;  * 
Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  cast, 
Whose  every  gasp  appear'd  his  last ; 
In  Roderick's  gore  he  dipt  the  braid, — 
"  Poor  Blanche  !  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  paid  : 
Yet  with  thy  foe  must  die,  or  live. 
The  praise  that  Faith  and  Valour  give.** 
With  that  he  blew  a  bugle-note, 
Undid  the  collar  from  his  throat, 


1  [MS. — "  Panting  and  breathless  on  the  sands, 

But  all  unwounded  now  he  stands."] 
t  [MS. — "  Redeem'd,  unhoped,  from  deadly  strife; 

Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  /    ,     ' 
(  threw. 

Whose  every  breath  appear'd  hi?  last."] 


224  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [ CANTO  V 

Unbonneted,  and  by  the  wave 
Sate  down  his  brow  and  hands  to  lave. 
Then  faint  afar  are  heard  the  feet^ 
Of  rushing  steeds  in  gallop  fleet ; 
The  sounds  increase,  and  now  are  seen 
Four  mounted  squires  in  Lincoln  green  ; 
Two  who  bear  lance,  and  two  who  lead, 
By  loosen'd  rein,  a  saddled  steed ; 
Each  onward  held  his  headlong  course, 
And  by  Fitz-James  rein'd  up  his  horse, — • 
With  wonder  view'd  the  bloody  spot — 
— "  Exclaim  not,  gallants !  question  not — 
You,  Herbert  and  LufFness,  alight. 
And  bind  the  wounds  of  yonder  knight; 
Let  the  grey  palfrey  bear  his  weight, 
We  destined  for  a  fairer  freight. 
And  bring  him  on  to  Stirling  straight ; 
I  will  before  at  better  speed. 
To  seek  fresh  horse  and  fitting  weed. 
The  sun  rides  high  ; — I  must  be  boune. 
To  see  the  archer  game  at  noon  ; 
But  lightly  Bayard  clears  the  lea. — 
De  Vaux  and  Herries,  follow  me. 

XVIII. 

"  Stand,  Bayard,  stand ! " — the  steed  obeyed 
With  arching  neck  and  bended  head. 
And  glancing  eye  and  quivering  ear 
As  if  he  loved  his  lord  to  hear. 

1  [ilS  — "  Faint  and  afar  are  heard  the  feet."] 


CAXTO  v.]  THE    COMBAT.  225 

No  foot  Fitz- James  in  stirrup  staid, 
No  grasp  upon  the  saddle  laid, 
But  wreath'd  his  left  hand  in  the  mane, 
And  lightly  bounded  from  the  plain, 
Turn'd  on  the  horse  his  armed  heel, 
And  stirr'd  his  courage  with  the  steel. 
Bounded  the  fiery  steed  in  air, 
The  rider  sate  erect  and  fair, 
Then  like  a  bolt  from  steel  crossbow 
Forth  launch'd,  along  the  plain  they  go. 
They  dash'd  that  rapid  current  thi-ougli, 
And  up  Carhonie's  hill  they  flew ; 
Still  at  the  gallop  prick'd  the  Knight, 
His  merry-men  foUow'd  as  they  might. 
Along  thy  banks,  swift  Teith!  they  ride, 
And  in  the  race  they  mock  thy  tide  ; 
Torry  and  Lendrick  now  are  past. 
And  Deanstown  lies  behind  them  cast ; 
They  rise,  the  banner'd  towers  of  Doune,* 
They  sink  in  distant  woodland  soon  ; 
Blair-Drummond  sees  the  hoofs  strike  fire,* 
They  sweep  like  breeze  through  Ochtertyre  ; 
They  mai-k  just  glance  and  disappear 
The  lofty  brow  of  ancient  Kier  ; 
They  bathe  their  courser's  sweltering  sides, 
Dark  Forth  !  amid  thy  sluggish  tides, 

fTiiL-  rulwi  '^r  Doune  Castle,  formerly  the  residence  of  the 
Earls  of  Mcnteith,  now  the  property  of  the  Earl  of  Moray, 
*re  situated  at  the  confluence  of  the  Ardoch  and  the  Teith.] 
2  (MS.—"  Blair-Dnimmond  saw  (heir  hoofs  ofjire.''] 
1.'* 


^26  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       FCAXTO  V. 

And  on  the  opposing  shore  take  ground, 
With  plash,  with  scramble,  and  with  bound. 
Right-hand  they  leave  thy  clifis,  Craig-Forth  I' 
And  soon  the  bulwark  of  the  North, 
Gray  Stirling,  with  her  towers  and  town, 
Upon  their  fleet  career  look'd  down. 

XIX. 

As  up  the  flinty  path  they  strain'd,^ 

Sudden  his  steed  the  leader  rein'd  ; 

A  signal  to  his  squire  he  flung, 

"WTio  instant  to  his  stirrup  sprung  : — 

"  Seest  thou,  De  Vaux,  yon  woodsman  gray. 

Who  town- ward  holds  the  rocky  way, 

Of  stature  tall  and  poor  array  ? 

Mark'st  thou  the  Arm,  yet  active  stride, 

With  which  he  scales  the  mountain  side  ?  ' 

Know'st  thou  from  whence  he  comes,  or  whom  ?  " 

"  No,  by  my  word ; — a  burly  groom 

He  seems,  who  in  the  field  or  chase 

1  [It  may  be  worth  noting,  that  the  Poet  marks  the  pro- 
g-ess of  the  King  by  naming  in  succession  places  familiar 
and  dear  to  his  own  early  recollections — Blair-Dnimmond.  the 
seat  of  the  Homes  of  Kaimes;  Kier,  that  of  the  principa] 
family  of  tho  name  of  Stirling;  Ochtertyre,  that  of  John 
Ramsay,  the  well-known  antiquary,  and  correspondent  of 
Burns;  and  Craigforth,  that  of  the  Callenders  of  Craigforth, 
almost  under  the  walls  of  Stirling  Castle;— all  hospitable 
roofs,  under  which  he  had  spent  many  of  his  younger  days 
-Ed.] 

2  [MS. — "  As  up  the  steepy  path  they  strain'd."] 

'  [MS. — "  With  which  he  gains  the  mountain  side."] 


CAjrro  v.] 


THE    CO>IBAT.  227 


A  baron's  train  would  nobly  grace." — 

**  Out,  out,  De  Yaux  1  can  fear  supply, 

And  jealousy,  no  sharper  eye  ? 

Afar,  ere  to  the  hill  he  drew, 

That  stately  fonn  and  step  I  knew  ; 

Like  foi-ni  in  Scotland  is  not  seen. 

Treads  not  such  step  on  Scottish  green. 

*Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  Saint  Serle  !  * 

The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  EarL 

Away,  away,  to  court,  to  show 

The  near  approach  of  di-eaded  foe ; 

The  King  must  stand  upon  his  guard  ; 

Douglas  and  he  must  meet  prepared." 

Then    right-himd    wheel'd    their    steeds,    and 

straight 
They  won  the  castle's  postern  gate. 

XX. 

The  Douglas,  who  had  bent  his  way 
From  Cambus-Kenneth's  abbey  gray, 
Now,  as  he  climb'd  the  rocky  shelf. 
Held  sad  communion  with  himself: 
"  Yes !  all  is  time  my  fears  could  frame ; 
A  prisoner  lies  the  noble  Gr?eme, 
And  fiery  Roderick  soon  will  feel 

1  [The  Edinburgh  Renewer  remarks  on  "  that  unhappy 
ooaplet,  where  the  King  himself  is  in  such  distress  for  a 
rhyme  as  to  be  obliged  to  apply  to  one  of  the  obscurest  saints 
in  th9  calendar."     The  reading  of  the  MS.  is— 

"  'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  my  word. 

The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  I/>rd.' 


228  THE    LADY   OF   THE    LAKE.       j^CANTO  V 

The  vengeance  of  the  royal  steel. 

I,  only  I,  can  ward  their  fate, — 

God  grant  the  ransom  come  not  late ! 

The  Abbess  hath  her  promise  given, 

My  child  shall  be  the  bride  of  Heaven ; — 

— Be  pardon'd  one  repining  tear  ? 

For  He,  who  gave  her,  knows  how  dear, 

How  excellent !  but  that  is  by. 

And  now  my  business  is — to  die. 

— Ye  towers !  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled ; 

And  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  mound !  ^ 

1  An  eminence  on  the  northeast  of  the  Castle,  where  state 
criminals  were  executed.  Stirling  was  often  polluted  with 
noble  blood.    It  is  thus  apostrophized  by  J.  Johnston: — 

"  Discordia  tristis 

Heu  quoties  procerum  sanguine  tinxit  humum ! 
Hoc  uno  infelix,  et  felix  cetera;  nusquam 
Laetior  aut  coeli  frons  geniusve  soli." 
The  fate  of  William,  eighth  Earl  of  Douglas,  whom  James 
11.  stabbed  in  Stirling  Castle  with  his  own  hand,  and  while 
under  his  royal  safe-conduct,  is  familiar  to  all  who  read 
Scottish  history.  Murdack  Duke  of  Albany,  Duncan  Earl 
of  Lennox,  his  flither-in-law,  and  his  two  sons,  Walter  and 
Alexander  Stuart,  were  executed  at  Stirling,  in  1425.  They 
were  beheaded  upon  an  eminence  without  the  castle  walls, 
but  making  pare  of  the  same  hill,  from  whence  they  cculd 
behold  their  strong  castle  of  Doune,  and  their  extensive 
possessions.  This  "heading  hill,"  as  it  was  sometimea 
termed,  bears  commonly  the  less  terrible  name  of  Hurly 
hacket,  from  its  having  been  the  scene  of  a  courtly  amuso 
ment  alluded  to  by  Sir  David  Lindsay,  who  says  of  the  pas 
Umes  in  which  the  young  king  was  engaged, . 

"  Some  harled  him  to  the  Hurly-hacket;" 


CA>n:o  V  ]  THE    COMBAT.  229 

That  oft  has  heard  the  death-axe  sound, 

As  on  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Fell  the  stern  headsman's  bloody  hand, — 

The  dungeon,  block,  and  nameless  tomb 

Prepare — for  Douglas  seeks  his  doom ! 

— But  hark !  what  blithe  and  jolly  peal 

Makes  the  Franciscan  steeple  reel  ? 

And  see !  upon  the  crowded  street, 

In  motley  groups  what  masquers  meet ! 

Banner  and  pageant,  pipe  and  drum, 

And  merry  morrice-dancers  come. 

I  guess,  by  all  this  quaint  array. 

The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day,* 

James  will  be  there ;  he  loves  such  show, 

Where  the  good  yeoman  bends  his  bow, 

And  the  tough  wrestler  foils  his  foe. 

As  well  as  where,  in  proud  career. 

The  high-bom  tilter  shivers  spear. 

I'll  follow  to  the  Castle-park, 

And  play  my  prize  ; — King  James  shall  mark, 

If  age  has  tamed  these  sinews  stark. 

Whose  force  so  oft,  in  happier  days. 

His  boyish  wonder  loved  to  praise." 

which  consisted  in  sliding,  in  some  sort  of  chair,  it  may  be 
supposed,  from  top  to  bottom  of  a  smooth  bank.  The  boys 
of  Edinburgh,  about  twenty  years  ago,  used  to  play  at 
hurley-hacket,  on  the  Calton-hil],  using  for  their  seat  a 
horse's  skull. 
^  [See  Appendix  Note  0.] 


230  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CAOTO  V. 

XXI. 

The  Castle  gates  were  open  flung, 

The  quivering  drawbridge  rock'd  and  rung, 

And  echo'd  loud  the  flinty  street 

Beneath  the  coursers'  clattering  feet, 

As  slowly  down  the  steep  descent 

Fair  Scotland's  King  and  nobles  went,* 

While  all  along  the  crowded  way 

Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 

And  ever  James  was  bending  low, 

To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-bow, 

Dofiing  his  cap  to  city  dame, 

Who  smiled  and  blush'd  for  pride  and  shame, 

And  well  the  simperer  might  be  vain, — 

He  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train ; 

Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 

Commends  each  pageant's  quaint  attire. 

Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud, 

And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd, 

Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims, 

"  Long  live  the  Commons'  King,  King  James  1 ' 

Behind  the  King  throng'd  peer  and  knight. 

And  noble  dame  and  damsel  bright, 

Whose  fiery  steeds  ill  brook'd  the  stay 

Of  the  steep  street  and  crowded  way. 

^  [MS. — "  King  James  and  all  his  nobles  went  .  . . 
Ever  the  King  was  bending  low 
To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-bow, 
Doffing  his  cap  to  burgher  dame. 
Who  smiling  blush'd  for  pride  and  shame."] 


rAKTO  v.]  THE    COilBAT.  231 

— ^But  in  the  train  you  might  discern 
Dark  lowering  brow  and  visage  stem ; 
There  nobles  mourn'd  their  pride  restraind,* 
And  the  mean  burgher's  joys  disdain'd ; 
And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan, 
Were  each  from  home  a  banish'd  man, 
There  thought  upon  their  own  gray  tower. 
Their  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 
And  deera'd  themselves  a  shameful  part 
Of  pageant  which  they  cursed  in  heart. 

XXII. 

Now,  in  the  Castle-park  drew  out 
Their  chequer  d  bands  the  joyous  rout. 
There  morricers,  with  bell  at  heel, 
And  blade  in  hand,  their  mazes  wheel;' 
But  chief,  beside  the  butts,  there  stand 
Bold  Robin  Hood  ^  and  all  his  band, — 

1  [iis. — ^"Nobles  who  mourn'd  their jwioer  restrain'd. 
And  the  poor  burgher's  jovs  disdain'd; 
Dark  chief,  who,  hostage  for  hU  clan, 
\i  as  from  his  home  a  banish' d  man. 
Who  thought  upon  his  ovra  gray  tower, 
TTie  waving  woods,  his  feudal  bower. 
And  deemd  himself  a.  shameful  part 
Of  pageant  thai  he  cursed  in  heart."] 

«  [MS.  adds:— 

"  With  awkward  stride  there  city  groom 
Would  part  of  fabled  knight  assume." 
«  The  exhibition  of  this  renowned  outlaw  and  his  band  waa 
\  favourite  froUc  at  such  festivaU  as  we  ar«*.  describing    This 


232  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CAMIO  V. 

Friar  Tuck  with  quarterstaff  and  cowl, 
Old  Scatlielocke  with  his  surlj  scowl, 

sporting,  in  which  kings  did  not  disdain  to  be  actors,  was 
prohibited  in  Scotland  upon  the  Reformation,  by  a  statute  of 
the  6th  Parliament  of  Queen  Mary,  c.  61,  A.  D.  1555,  which 
ordered,  under  heavy  penalties,  that  "na  manner  of  person 
be  chosen  Robert  Hude,  nor  Little  John,  Abbot  of  Unreason, 
Queen  of  May,  nor  otherwise."  But  in  1561,  the  "rascal 
multitude,"  says  John  Knox,  "  were  stirred  up  to  make  a 
Robin  Hude,  whilk  enormity  was  of  many  years  left  and 
damned  by  statute  and  act  of  Parliament;  yet  would  they 
not  be  forbidden."  Accordingly,  they  raised  a  very  serious 
tumult,  and  at  length  made  prisoners  the  magistrates  who 
endeavoured  to  suppress  it,  and  would  not  release  them  till 
they  extorted  a  formal  promise  that  no  one  should  be 
punished  for  his  share  of  the  disturbance.  It  would  seem 
from  the  complaints  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk, 
that  these  profane  festivities  were  continued  down  to  1592.1 
Bold  Robin  was,  to  say  the  least,  equally  successful  in 
maintaining  his  ground  against  the  reformed  clergy  of  Eng- 
land; for  the  simple  and  evangelical  Latimer  complains  of 
coming  to  a  country  church,  where  the  people  refused  to 
hear  him,  because  it  was  Robin  Hood's  day;  and  his  mitre 
and  rochet  were  fain  to  give  way  to  the  village  pastime. 
Much  curious  information  on  this  subject  may  be  found  in 
the  Preliminary  Dissertation  to  the  late  Mr.  Ritson's  edition 
of  the  songs  respecting  this  memorable  outlaw.  The  game 
of  Robin  Hood  was  usually  acted  in  May;  and  he  was  asso- 
ciated with  the  morrice-dancers,  on  whom  so  mnch  illustra- 
tion has  been  bestowed  by  the  commentators  on  Shakspeare. 
A  very  lively  picture  of  these  festivities,  containing  a  great 
deal  of  curious  information  on  the  subject  of  the  private  life 
and  amusements  of  our  ancestors,  was  thrown  by  the  late 
ingenious  Mr.  Strutt,  into  his  romance  entitled  Queen-hoc 
BaU,  published  after  his  death,  in  1808. 

1  Book  of  the  Universal  Kirk,  p.  414. 


CAHTO  v.]  THE    COilBAT.  233 

Maid  Marion,  fair  as  ivory  bone, 

Scarlet,  and  Mutch,  and  Little  John ; 

Their  bugles  challenge  all  that  will. 

In  archery  to  prove  their  skill. 

The  Douglas  bent  a  bow  of  might, — 

His  first  shaft  entered  in  the  white, 

And  when  in  turn  he  shot  again. 

His  second  split  the  first  in  twain. 

From  the  King's  hand  must  Douglas  take 

A  silver  darl,  the  archer's  stake ; 

Fondly  he  watch'd  with  watery  eye,* 

Some  answering  glance  of  sympathy, — 

No  kind  emotion  made  reply  ! 

Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight, 

The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright.* 

1  [MS. — "  Fondiv  he  watch'd  with  watery  eye, 
For  answering  glance  of  sympathy, — 
But  no  emotion  made  reply ! 
Indifferent  as  to  unknown    ) 
Cold  as  to  unknown  yeoman  )       ^    ' 
The  King  gave  forth  the  arrow  bright."] 

*  The  Douglas  of  the  poem  is  an  imaginary  person,  a  sup- 
posed uncle  of  the  Earl  of  Angus.  But  the  King's  behaviour 
during  an  unexpected  interview  with  the  Laird  of  Kilspindie, 
one  of  the  banished  Douglasses,  under  circumstances  similar 
to  those  in  the  text,  is  imitated  from  a  real  story  tcld  by 
Home  of  Godscroft.  I  wotild  have  availed  myself  more  fully 
of  the  simple  and  affecting  circumstanoes  of  the  old  history, 
had  they  not  been  already  woven  into  a  pathetic  baLad  by 
my  friend  Mr.  Finlay.* 

«  See  Scottish  Historical  and  Romantic  EaUads.  Glasgow 
\S08,  vol.  ii.  p.  117. 


234  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  V. 

XXIII. 

Z^ow,  clear  the  ring !  for,  hand  to  hand, 
The  manly  wrestlers  take  their  stand. 

•'  His  (the  king's)  implacability  (towards  the  family  of 
Douglas)  did  also  appear  in  his  carriage  towards  Archibald 
of  Kilspindie,  whom  he,  when  he  was  a  child,  loved  singu- 
lar!}' well  for  his  ability  of  body,  and  was  wont  to  call  hira 
his  Gray-Steill.l  Archibald,  being  banished  into  England, 
could  not  well  comport  with  the  humour  of  that  nation, 
whi  jh  he  thought  to  be  too  proud,  and  that  they  had  too  high 
n  conceit  of  themselves,  joined  with  a  contempt  and  despising 
of  all  others.  Wherefore,  being  wearied  of  that  life,  and 
remembering  the  king's  favour  of  old  towards  him,  he 
determined  to  try  the  king's  mercifulness  and  clemency.  So 
he  comes  into  Scotland,  and  taking  occasion  of  the  king's 
hunting  in  the  park  of  Stirling,  he  casts  himself  to  be  in  his 
way,  as  he  was  coming  home  to  the  castle.  So  soon  as  the 
king  saw  him  afar  off,  ere  he  came  near,  he  guessed  it  was 
he,  and  said  to  one  of  his  courtiers,  yonder  is  my  Gray-Steill, 
Archibald  of  Kilspindie,  if  he  be  alive.  The  other  answered 
that  it  could  not  be  he,  and  that  he  durst  not  come  into  the 
king's  presence.  The  king  approaching,  he  fell  upon  his 
knees  and  craved  pardon,  and  promised  from  thenceforward 
to  abstain  from  meddling  in  public  affairs,  and  to  lead  a  quiet 
and  private  life.  The  king  went  by  without  giving  him  any 
answer,  and  trotted  a  good  round  pace  up  the  hill.  Kils- 
pindie followed,  and,  though  he  wore  on  him  a  secret,  or  shirt 
of  mail,  for  his  particular  enemies,  was  as  soon  at  the  castle 
gate  as  the  king.  There  he  sat  him  down  upon  a  stone  with- 
out, and  entreated  some  of  the  king's  servants  for  a  cup  of 
drink,  being  weary  and  thirsty  ;  but  they,  fearing  the  khig's 
displeasure,  durst  give  him  none.  When  the  king  was  set  at 
his  dinner,  he  asked  what  he  had  done,  what  he  had  said, 
and  whither  he  had  gone  ?    It  was  told  him  that  he  had 

1  A  champion  of  popular  romance.  See  Ellis's  Eomance^ 
vol.  iii. 


CAHTO  v.]  THE    COMBAT.  235 

Two  o'er  the  rest  superior  rose, 
And  proud  demanded  mightier  foes. 
Nor  call'd  in  vain  ;  for  Douglas  came. 
— For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame ; 
Scarce  better  John  of  Alloa's  fare, 
Whom  senseless  home  his  comrades  beai 
Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring,* 

desired  a  cup  of  drink,  and  had  gotten  none.  The  king  re- 
proved them  very  sharply  for  their  discourtesy,  and  told 
them,  that  if  he  had  not  taken  an  oath  that  no  Douglas  should 
ever  serve  hira,  he  would  have  received  him  into  his  service, 
for  l:e  hud  seen  him  sometime  a  man  of  great  ability.  Then 
he  sent  him  word  to  go  to  Leith,  and  expect  his  further 
plea-ure.  Then  some  kinsman  of  David  Falconer,  the  can- 
nonler,  that  was  slain  at  Tantallon,  begun  to  quarrel  with 
Archibald  about  the  matter,  wherewith  the  king  showed 
himself  not  well  pleased  when  he  heard  of  it.  Then  he  com- 
manded him  to  go  to  France  for  a  certain  space,  till  he  heard 
further  from  him.  And  so  he  did,  and  died  shortly  after. 
This  gave  occasion  to  the  King  of  England,  (Henry  VHI.)  to 
blame  his  nephew,  alleging  the  old  saying,  Th?.t  a  king's 
face  should  give  grace.  For  this  Archibald  (whatsoever 
were  Angus's  or  Sir  George's  fault)  had  not  been  principal 
actor  of  anything,  nor  no  counsellor  nor  stirrer  up,  but  only 
a  follower  of  his  friends,  and  that  noways  cruelly  dis- 
posed."—Hume  of  GofJscrofl^  ii.  107. 

1  The  usual  prize  of  a  wrestling  was  a  ram  and  a  ring,  but 
the  animal  would  have  embarrassed  my  story.  Thus,  in  the 
Cokes  Tale  of  Gamelyn,  ascribed  to  Chaucer: — 

"  There  happed  to  be  there  beside 

Tryed  a  wrestling; 
And  therefore  there  v,-as  y-setten 
A  ram  and  als  a  ring." 


236  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        FCANl-O  V, 

While  coldly  glanced  his  eye  of  blue, 

As  frozen  drop  of  wintry  dew. 

Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  his  breast 

His  struggling  soul  his  words  suppressed ; 

Indignant  then  he  tum'd  him  where 

Their  arms  the  brawny  yeoman  bare, 

To  hurl  the  massive  bar  in  air. 

When  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shown, 

The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone 

From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high, 

And  sent  the  fragment  through  the  sky, 

A  rood  beyond  the  furthest  mark ; — 

And  still  in  Stirling's  royal  park. 

The  gray-hair'd  sires,  who  know  the  past, 

To  strangers  point  the  Douglas-cast, 

And  moralize  on  the  decay 

Of  Scottish  strength  in  modem  day.* 


igain  the  Litil  Geste  of  Robin  Hood : — 

"  By  a  bridge  was  a  wrestling, 

And  there  taryed  was  he, 
And  there  was  all  the  best  yemen 

Of  all  the  west  countrey. 
A  full  fa\Te  game  there  was  set  up, 

A  white  bull  up  y-pight, 
A  great  courser  with  saddle  and  brydle, 

"With  gold  burnished  full  bryght; 
A  payre  of  gloves,  a  red  golde  ringe, 

A  pipe  of  wyne,  good  fay ; 
What  man  bereth  him  best,  I  wis, 

The  prize  shall  bear  away." 

Ritson's  Robin  Hood,  vol.  L 
1  [MS. — "  Of  mortal  strength  in  modern  day."] 


CASTOV.j  THE    COilBAT.  237 

XXIV. 

The  vale  with  loud  applauses  rang, 
The  Ladies'  Rocli  sent  back  the  clang. 
The  King,  with  look  unmov'd,  bestowed 
A  purse  well  fill'd  with  pieces  broad.* 
Indignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud, 
And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd,' 
Who  now,  with  anxious  wonder  scan, 
And  sharper  glance,  the  dark  gray  man; 
Till  whisp€  rs  rose  among  the  throng, 
That  heart  so  free,  and  hand  so  strong, 
Must  to  the  Douglas  blood  belong : 
The  old  men  mark'd,  and  shook  the  head, 
To  see  his  hair  with  silver  spread. 
And  wink'd  aside,  and  told  each  son, 
Of  feats  upon  the  English  done. 
Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand  » 
Was  exiled  from  his  native  land. 
The  women  prais'd  his  stately  form, 
Though  wreck'd  by  many  a  winter's  storm;' 
The  youth  with  awe  and  wonder  saw 
His  strength  surpassing  Nature's  law. 
Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd, 
Till  murmur  rose  to  clamours  loud. 
But  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 
Of  peers  -vho  circled  round  the  King, 

1  [MS.—"  A  purse  iceigh'd  doitn  with  pie<:es  broad.''] 
S  [MS.—"  ScaUered  the  gold  among  tlie  crowd-"] 
8  [MS.—"  Ere  Jaines  of  Douglis"  stalwart  hand."] 
4  [MS.—"  rhongU  worn  oy  mauy  x  winter  storm.") 


238  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.         [CAVTO  V. 

"With  Douglas  held  communion  kind, 
Or  call'd  the  banish'd  man  to  mind ;  ^ 
No,  not  from  those  who,  at  the  chase, 
Once  held  his  side  the  honour'd  place, 
Begirt  his  board,  and,  in  the  field. 
Found  safety  underneath  his  shield ; 
For  he,  whom  royal  eyes  disown. 
When  was  his  form  to  courtiers  known  1 

XXV. 

The  monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag, 
And  bade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag, 
"Whose  pride  the  holiday  to  crown. 
Two  favourite  greyhounds  should  pull  down. 
That  venison  free,  and  Bourdeaux  wine, 
Might  serve  the  archery  to  dine. 
But  Lufra — whom  from  Douglas*  side 
Nor  bribe  nor  threat,  could  ere  divide, 
The  fleetest  hound  in  all  the  North, — 
Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darted  forth. 
She  left  the  royal  hounds  mid-way, 
And  dashing  on  the  antler'd  prey, 
•    Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  his  flank, 
And  deep  the  flowing  hfe-blood  drank. 
The  King's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 
By  strange  intruder  broken  short. 
Came  up,  and,  with  his  leash  unbound, 
In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 

'  [MS.—"  Or  called  his  stately  form  to  mind."] 


TAJlTO  v.]  THE    COMBAT.  239 

— The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn, 
The  King's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 
And  last,  and  worst  to  spu-it  proud, 
Had  borne  the  pity  of  the  crowd ; 
But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred. 
To  share  his  board,  to  w^atch  his  bed, 
And  oft  would  Ellen,  Lufra's  neck, 
In  maiden  glee,  with  garlands  deck ; 
They  were  such  playmates,  that  ^vith  name 
Of  Lufra,  Ellen's  image  came. 
His  stifled  wrath  is  brimming  high, 
In  darken'd  brow  and  flashing  eye ; 
As  waves  before  the  bark  divide, 
The  crowd  gave  way  before  his  stride ; 
Needs  but  a  buffet  and  no  more, 
The  groom  lies  senseless  in  his  gore. 
Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 
Though  gauntleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

XXVI. 

Then  clamour'd  loud  the  royal  train,* 
And  brandish'd  swords  and  staves  amain. 
But  stem  the  Baron's  warning — "  Back  I  * 
Back,  on  your  lives,  ye  menial  pack ! 
Beware  the  Douglas. — Yes !  behold, 
Kuig  James !  The  Douglas,  doom'd  of  old, 
And  vainly  sought  for  near  and  far. 


'  [MS. — "  Clamour'd  his  comrades  of  the  train."] 

«  [MS. — "  But  stem  the  warrior's  warning—'  Back  J '  »*] 


840  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.         [CANTO  Y. 

A  victim  to  atone  the  war, 

A  willing  victim,  now  attends, 

Nor  craves  thy  grace  but  for  his  friends.** — 

"  Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid  ? 

Presumptuous  Lord  !  '*  the  monarch  said ; 

"  Of  thy  mis-proud  ambitious  clan, 

Thou,  James  of  Bothwell,  wert  the  man, 

The  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe 

My  woman-mercy  would  not  know : 

But  shall  a  Monarch's  presence  brook ^ 

Injurious  blow,  and  haughty  look  ? — 

What  ho!  the  Captain  of  our  Guard! 

Give  the  offender  fitting  ward. — 

Break  off  the  sports"  ! — for  tumult  rose, 

And  yeomen  *gan  to  bend  their  bows, — 

"  Break  off  the  sports !  "  he  said,  and  frown*d, 

"  And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground.** 

xxvn. 
Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray 
Marr'd  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 
The  horsemen  prick'd  among  the  crowd, 
Repeird  by  threats  and  insult  loud  ;  ^ 
To  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  weak, 
The  timorous  fly,  the  women  shriek  ; 
"With  flint,  with  shaft,  with  staff,  with  bar, 


1  [MS. — "  But  in  my  court,  injurious  blow, 

And  bearded  thus,  and  thus  out-dared? 
What  ho !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard !  "] 

«  [MS.~"  Their  threats  repell'd  by  msidt  loud."] 


CAKTOV.]  THE    COMBAT.  241 

The  hardier  urge  tumultuous  war. 
At  once  round  Douglas  darkly  sweep 
The  royal  spears  m  circle  deep, 
And  slowly  scale  the  pathway  steep : 
"While  on  the  rear  in  thunder  pour 
The  rabble  with  disorder'd  roiu*. 
With  grief  the  noble  Douglas  saw 
The  Commons  rise  against  the  law, 
And  to  the  leading  soldier  said, — 
"  Sir  John  of  Hyndfbrd !  'twas  my  blade 
That  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid ; 
For  that  good  deed,  permit  me  then 
A  word  with  these  misguided  men. 

XXVIII. 

"  Hear,  gentle  friends !  ere  yet  for  me, 
Ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty. 
My  life,  my  honour,  and  my  cause, 
I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 
Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require 
The  aid  of  your  misguided  ire  ? 
Or,  if  I  suffer  causeless  wrong, 
Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong, 
My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low. 
That,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe. 
Those  cords  of  love  I  should  unbind. 
Which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind? 
Oh  no  !  Believe  in  yonder  tower 
It  will  not  soothe  my  captive  hour, 
To  know  those  spears  our  foes  should  di'ead, 
16 


242  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE  [CASTO  V 

For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red ; 
To  know,  in  fruitless  brawl  begun, 
For  me,  that  mother  wails  her  son ; 
For  me,  that  widow's  mate  expires  ; 
For  me,  that  orphans  weep  their  sires; 
That  patriots  raourn  insulted  laws, 
And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 
O  let  5'our  patience  ward  such  ill, 
And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still ! " 

XXIX. 

The  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  again  ^ 

In  teal's,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain . 

With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  pray*d 

For  blessings  on  his  generous  head, 

Who  for  his  country  felt  alone, 

And  prized  her  blood  beyond  his  own. 

Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life, 

Bless'd  him  who  staid  the  civil  strife ; 

And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high, 

The  self-devoted  Chief  to  spy. 

Triumphant  over  wrongs  and  ire. 

To  whom  the  prattlers  owed  a  sire ; 

Even  the  rough  soldier's  heart  was  moved  ; 

As  if  behind  some  bier  beloved, 

With  trailing  arms  and  drooping  head, 

The  Douglas  up  the  hill  he  led, 


^  [MS.  —'*  The  crowd's  wild  fury  obb'd  amain 
In  tears,  as  tempests  sink  in  rsiiu."] 


CAHTOV.]  THE    C03IBAT.  243 

And  at  the  castle's  battled  verge, 

With  sighs  resign'd  his  honour'd  charge. 


XXX. 

The  offended  ]SIoiiarch  rode  apart, 
With  bitter  thought  and  swelUng  heart, 
And  would  not  now  vouchsafe  again 
Through  Stirhng  streets  to  lead  his  tram. 
"  O  Lennox,  who  would  wish  to  rule 
This  changeUng  crowd,  this  common  fool  ? 
Hear'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  the  loud  acclahn, 
With  which  they  shout  the  Douglas  Htame  ? 
With  like  acclaim,  the  vulgar  throat 
Strain'd  for  King  James  their  morning  note ; 
With  like  acclaim  they  hail'd  the  day 
When  first  I  broke  the  Douglas'  sway  ; 
And  like  acclaim  would  Douglas  greet, 
If  he  could  hurl  me  from  my  seat. 
Who  o'er  the  herd  would  wish  to  reign. 
Fantastic,  fickle,  fierce,  and  vain  ! 
Vain  as  the  leaf  upon  the  stream,^ 
And  fickle  as  a  changeful  dream ; 
Fantastic  as  a  woman's  mood, 
^d  fierce  as  Frenzy's  fever'd  blood. 
Thou  many-headed  monster  thing,^ 
0  who  would  wish  to  be  thy  king  ! 


1  [^iis.— "  Vain  as  the  sick  maifs  idle  dream-"] 

s  [^ "  Who  deserves  greatness, 

Deserves  your  hate ;  and  your  affections  are 
A  sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 


244  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CANTO  V. 

XXXI. 

"  But  soft !  what  messenger  of  speed 

Spurs  hitherward  his  panting  steed  ? 

I  guess  his  cognizance  afar — 

What  from  our  cousin,  John  of  Mar  ?  " 

"  He  prays,  my  liege,  your  sports  keep  bound 

Within  the  safe  and  guarded  ground : 

For  some  foul  purpose  yet  unknown, — 

Most  sure  for  evil  to  the  throne, — 

The  outlawed  Chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 

Has  summon'd  his  rebellious  crew ; 

'Tis  said,  in  James  of  Bothwell's  aid 

These  loose  banditti  stand  array'd. 

The  Earl  of  Mar,  this  mom,  from  Doune, 

To  break  their  muster  march'd,  and  soon 

Your  grace  will  hear  of  battle  fought ; 

But  earnestly  the  Earl  besought, 

Till  for  such  danger  he  provide, 

With  scanty  train  you  will  not  ride."  * 

XXXII. 

"  Thou  warn*st  me  I  have  done  amiss, — 
I  should  have  earlier  looked  to  this  : 

Which  would  increase  his  evil.    He  that  depends 

Upon  your  favours,  swims  with  fins  of  lead, 

And  hews  down  oaks  with  rushes.    Hang  ye  I    Trust  ye? 

With  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind; 

And  call  him  noble,  that  was  now  your  hate, 

Him  vile  that  was  your  garland." 

Coriolaniis,  Act  I.  Scene  I.] 
I  [MS. — "  On  distant  chase  you  will  not  ride."l 


OASTO  v.]  THE    COMBAT.  245 

I  lost  it  in  this  bustling  day. 
Retrace  with  speed  thy  former  way  ; 
Spare  not  for  spoiling  of  thy  steed, 
The  best  of  mine  shall  be  thy  meed. 
Say  to  our  faithful  Lord  of  Mai*, 
We  do  forbid  the  intended  war ; 
Roderick,  this  morn,  in  single  fight, 
Was  made  our  prisoner  by  a  knight ; 
And  Douglas  hath  himself  and  cause 
Submitted  to  our  kingdom's  laws. 
The  tidings  of  their  leaders  lost 
Will  soon  dissolve  the  mountain  host, 
Nor  would  we  that  the  vulgar  feel. 
For  their  Chief's  crimes  avenging  steel. 
Bear  Mar  our  message,  Braco  :  fly !  " 
He  tura'd  his  steed, — "  ray  liege,  I  hie, — 
Yet,  ere  I  cross  this  lily  lawn, 
I  fear  the  broadswords  will  be  drawn." 
The  turf  the  flying  courser  spum'd. 
And  to  his  towers  the  King  retum'd. 

XXXIII. 

Ill  with  King  James's  mood  that  day. 
Suited  gay  feast  and  minstrel  lay  ; 
Soon  were  dismiss'd  the  courtly  throng, 
And  soon  cut  short  the  festal  song. 
Nor  less  upon  the  sadden'd  town 
The  evening  sunk  in  sorrow  down. 
The  burghers  spoke  of  civil  jar, 
Of  rumour'd  feuds  and  mountain  war. 


24  C  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.        [CAKTO  V 

Of  Moray,  Mar,  and  Roderick  Dhu, 
All  up  in  anns  ; — the  Douglas  too, 
Tliey  mourn'd  him  pent  within  the  hold, 
"  Where  stout  Earl  William  was  of  old."» 
And  there  his  word  the  speaker  staid, 
And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid. 
Or  pointed  to  his  dagger  blade. 
But  jaded  horsemen,  from  the  west, 
At  evening  to  the  castle  press'd ; 
And  busy  talkers  said  they  bore 
Tidings  of  fight  on  Katrine's  shore  ; 
At  noon  the  deadly  fray  begun, 
And  lasted  till  the  set  of  sun, 
Thus  giddy  rumour  shook  the  town, 
Till  closed  the  Night  her  pennons  brown. 

1  Stabbed  by  James  II.  in  Stirling  Castle. 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE, 


CANTO    SIXTH. 


THE   GUAED-EOOM. 


Tm 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


OAJITO    SIXTH. 


THE  GUARD-ROOM. 

u 

The  sun,  awakening,  through  the  smoky  air 

Of  the  dark  city  casts  a  sullen  glance, 
Rousing  each  caitiff  to  his  task  of  care, 

Of  sinful  man  the  sad  inheritance  ; 
Summoning  revellers  from  the  lagging  dance. 

Scaring  the  prowling  robber  to  his  den ; 
Gilding  on  battled  tower  the  warder's  lance, 

And  warning  student  pale  to  leave  his  pen, 
And  yield  his  drowsy  eyes  to  the  kind  nurse  of  men. 

What  various  scenes,  and,  O  I  what  scenes  of  woe, 
Are  witness'd  by  tliat  red  and  struggUng  beam  I 


250  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.     [CAIITO  VI. 

The  fever'd  patient,  from  his  pallet  low, 

Through  crowded  hospital  beholds  its  stream ; 
The  ruin'd  maiden  trembles  at  its  gleam, 

The  debtor  wakes  to  thought  of  gyve  and  jail, 

The    love-lorn    wretch    starts    from    tormenting 

dream ; 

The  wakeful  mother,  bji  the  glimmering  pale, 

Trims  her  sick  infant's  couch,  and  soothes  his 

feeble  wail. 

II. 
At  dawn  the  towers  of  Stirling  rang 
With  soldier-step  and  weapon-clang, 
While  drums,  with  roUing  note,  foretell 
Relief  to  weary  sentinel. 
Through  narrow  loop  and  casement  barr'd,* 
The  sunbeams  sought  the  Court  of  Guard, 
And,  struggling  with  the  smoky  air, 
Deaden'd  the  torches'  yellow  glare. 
In  comfortless  alliance  shone  ^ 
The  lights  through  arch  of  black en'd  stone, 
And  show'd  wild  shapes  in  garb  of  war, 
Faces  deform'd  with  beard  and  scar. 
All  haggard  from  the  midnight  watch. 
And  fever'd  with  the  stern  debauch ; 
For  the  oak  table's  massive  board. 
Flooded  with  wine,  with  fragments  stored, 

1  [MS.—"  Through  blacken'd  arch  and  casement  barrM.**] 
'  [MS. — "  The  lights  in  strange  alliance  shone 

Beneath  the  arch  of  blacken'd  stone."] 


CASXO  VI.1  THE    GUARD-KOOM.  251 

And  beakers  drain'd,  and  cups  o'erthrown, 
•    Show'd  in  what  sport  the  night  had  flown. 
Some,  weary,  snored  on  floor  and  bench ; 
Some  Labour'd  still  their  thirst  to  quench ; 
Some,  chill'd  with  watching,  spread  their  han(b 
O'er  the  huge  chimney's  dying  brands, 
AVhile  round  them,  or  beside  them  flung, 
At  every  step  their  harness  rung. 

III. 
These  drew  not  for  their  flelds  the  sword, 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 
Nor  own'd  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  Chieftain  in  their  leader's  name ; 
Adventurers  they,  from  for  who  roved, 
To  Uve  by  battle  which  they  loved.^ 
There  the  Itahan's  clouded  face. 
The  swarthy  Spaniard's  there  you  trace ; 
The  mountain-loving  Switzer  there 
More  freely  breathed  in  mountam-air ; 
The  Fleming  there  despised  the  soil, 
That  paid  so  ill  the  labourer's  toil ; 
Their  rolls  show'd  French  and  German  name; 
And  meiTy  England's  exiles  came. 
To  share,  with  ill-conceal'd  disdam, 
Of  Scotland's  pay  the  scanty  gam. 
All  brave  in  arms,  well  irain'd  to  Avield 
The  heavy  halberd,  brand,  and  shield ; 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  P.] 


252  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  Vl 

In  camps  licentious,  wild,  and  bold ; 
In  pillage  fierce  and  uncontroll'd  ; 
And  now,  by  holytide  and  feast, 
From  rules  of  discipline  released. 

IV. 

They  held  debate  of  bloody  fray; 
Fought  *twixt  Loch  Katrine  and  Achray. 
Fierce  was  their  speech,  and,  'mid  their  words, 
Their  hands  oft  grappled  to  their  swords ; 
Nor  sunk  their  tone  to  spare  the  ear 
Of  wounded  comrades  groaning  near, 
Whose  mangled  limbs,  and  bodies  gored. 
Bore  token  of  the  mountain  sword. 
Though,  neighbouring  to  the  Court  of  Guard, 
Their  prayers  and  feverish  wails  were  heard ; 
Sad  burden  to  the  rufiian  joke. 
And  savage  oath  by  fury  spoke ! — ^ 
At  length  up-started  John  of  Brent, 
A  yeoman  from  the  banks  of  Trent ; 
A  stranger  to  respect  or  fear, 
In  peace  a  chaser  of  the  deer, 
.    In  host  a  hardy  mutineer, 

But  still  the  boldest  of  the  crew, 

When  deed  of  danger  was  to  do. 

He  grieved,  that  day,  their  games  cut  short, 

And  marr'd  the  dicer's  brawling  sport, 


1  [MS.—"  Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  jest, 

And  rude  oaths  vented  by  the  rest. 


CANTO  Vl-l  THE    GUARD-KOOM.  253 

And  shouted  loud,  "  Renew  the  bowl ! 
And,  while  a  merry  catch  I  troll, 
Let  each  the  buxom  chorus  bear. 
Like  brethren  of  the  brand  and  spear." 

V. 

soldier's  song. 
Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule 
Laid  a  swinging  long  curse  on  the  bonny  brown 

bowl. 
That  there's  wrath  and  despair  in  the  jolly  black- 
jack. 
And  the  seven  deadly  sins  in  a  flagon  of  sack ; 
Yet  whoop,  Bamaby !  off  with  thy  liquor, 
Drink  upsees  ^  out,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar  I 

Our  vicar  he  calls  it  damnation  to  sip 
The  ripe  ruddy  dew  of  a  woman's  dear  lip. 
Says,  that  Beelzebub  lurks  in  her  kerchief  so  sly, 
And  Apollyon  shoots  darts  from  her  merry  black 

eye; 
Yet  whoop,  Jack !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker, 
Till  she  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar  I 

Our   vicar   thus   preaches — and   why  should   he 

not? 
For  the  dues  of  his  cure  are  the  placket  and 

pot; 

1  Bftcchanalian  interjection,  borrowed  from  the  Dntch. 


254  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  VI 

And  'tis  right  of  his  office  poor  laymen  to  lurch, 
Who  infringe  the  domains  of  our  good  Mother 

Church. 
Yet  whoop,  bully-boys !  off  with  your  liquor, 
Sweet  Marjorie's  the  word,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar  I  * 

VI. 

The  warder's  challenge,  heard  without, 

Staid  in  mid-roar  the  merry  shout. 

A  soldier  to  the  portal  went, — 

"  Here  is  old  Bertram,  sirs,  of  Ghent ; 

And, — beat  for  jubilee  the  drum ! 

A  maid  and  minstrel  with  him  come." 

Bertram,  a  Fleming,  grey  and  scarr'd, 

"Was  entering  now  the  Court  of  G-uard, 

A  harper  with  him,  and  in  plaid 

All  muffled  close,  a  mountain  maid, 

"Who  backward  shrunk  to  'scape  the  view 

Of  the  loose  scene  and  boisterous  crew. 

"  What  news  ?  "  they  roar'd :     "  I  only  know, 

From  noon  till  eve  we  fought  with  foe. 


1  ["  The  greatest  blemish  in  the  poem  is  the  ribaldry  and 
dull  vulgarity  which  is  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  soldiery 
in  (he  guard-room.  Mr.  Scott  has  condescended  to  write  a 
song  for  them,  which  will  be  read  with  pain,  we  are  persuad- 
ed, even  by  his  warmest  admirers;  and  his  whole  geniuji, 
and  even  his  power  of  versification,  seems  to  desert  him  when 
ho  attempts  to  repeat  their  conversation.  Here  is  some  of 
the  stuff  which  has  dropped,  in  this  inauspicious  attempt, 
from  the  pen  of  one  of  the  first  poets  of  his  age  or  country,' 

&C.  &C. — JEFFKEy.l 


DA5TO  VI.J  THE    GUARD-ROOM.  255 

As  wild  and  as  untameable 

As  tl\e  rude  mountains  where  they  dwell ; 

On  both  sides  store  of  blood  is  lost, 

Nor  much  success  can  either  boast." — 

"  But  whence  thy  captives,  friend  ?  such  spoil 

As  theirs  must  needs  reward  thy  toil.^ 

Old  dost  thou  wax,  and  wars  grow  sharp ; 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp  ! 

Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land, 

The  leader  of  a  juggler  band." — ^ 

1  [The  I\IS.  reads  after  this:— 

"  Get  thee  an  ape,  and  then  at  once 
Thou  may'st  renounce  the  warder's  lance, 
And  trudge  tlirough  borough  and  through  land. 
The  leader  of  a  juggler  band."] 

2  The  jongleurs,  or  jugglers,  as  we  learn  from  the  elaborate 
work  of  the  late  Mr.  Strutt,on  the  sports  and  pastimes  of  the 
people  of  England,  used  to  call  in  the  aid  of  various  assist- 
ants, to  render  these  performances  as  captivating  as  possible. 
The  glee-maiden  was  a  necessary  attendant.  Her  duty  was 
tumbling  and  dancing;  and  therefore  the  Anglo-Saxon  ver- 
sion of  Saint  Mark's  Gospel,  states  Herodias  to  have  vaulted 
or  tumbled  before  King  Herod.  In  Scotland,  these  poor  crea- 
tures.seem,  even  at  a  late  period,  to  have  been  bondswomen 
to  their  masters,  as  appears  from  a  case  reported  by  Foun- 
tainhall:  "  Reld  the  mountebank  pursues  Scott  of  Harden 
and  his  lady,  for  stealing  away  from  him  a  little  girl,  called 
the  tumbling-lassie,  that  danced  upon  his  stage;  and  he 
claimed  damages,  and  produced  a  contract,  whereby  he 
bought  her  from  her  mother  for  L.30  Scots.  But  we  have 
no  slaves  in  Scotland,  and  mothers  cannot  sell  their  bairns: 
and  physicians  attested  the  employment  of  tumbling  would 
Rill  her;  and  ber  joints  were  now  grown  stiff,  and  she  de> 
^lined  to  return;  though  she  was  at  least  a  'prentice,  and  so 
could  not  run  away  from  her  master;  yet  some  cited  Moses's 


256  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CAHTO  VT 

YII. 

"  No,  comrade  ; — no  such  fortune  mine. 

After  the  fight  these  sought  our  hne, 

That  aged  harper  and  "the  girl, 

And,  having  audience  of  the  Earl, 

Mar  bade  I  should  purvey  them  steed, 

And  bring  them  hitherward  with  speed. 

Forbear  your  mirth  and  rude  alarm, 

For  none  shall  do  them  shame  or  harm." — 

"  Hear  ye  his  boast  ?  "  cried  John  of  Brent, 

Ever  to  strife  and  jangling  bent ; 

"  Shall  he  strike  doe  beside  our  lodge, 

law,  that  if  a  servant  shelter  himself  with  thee,  against  his 
master's  cruelty,  thou  shalt  surely  not  deliver  him  up.  The 
Lords,  renitente  cancellano^  assoilzied  Harden,  on  the  27th  of 
January  (1687)." — Fouxtainhall's  Decisions,  \o\.  i.  p.  439.1 
The  facetious  qualities  of  the  ape  soon  rendered  him  an 
acceptable  addition  to  the  strolling  band  of  the  jongleur.  Ben 
Jonson,  in  his  splenetic  introduction  to  the  comedy  of  "  Bar- 
tholomew Fair,"  is  at  pains  to  inform  the  audience  "that  he 
has  ne'er  a  sword-and-buckler  man  in  his  Fair,  nor  a  juggler 
•with  a  well-educated  ape,  to  come  over  the  chaine  for  the 
King  of  England,  and  back  again  for  the  Prince,  and  sit  still 
on  his  haunches  for  the  Pope  and  the  King  of  Spaine.'^ 

1  Though  less  to  my  purpose,  I  cannot  help  noticing  a  cir- 
cumstance respecting  another  of  this  Mr.  Reid's  attendants, 
which  occurred  during  James  II.'s  zeal  for  Catholic  prosely- 
nsm,  and  is  told  by  Fountainhall,  with  diy  Scotch  irony; 
January  17th,  1687. — Reid  the  mountebank  is  received  into 
the  Popish  church,  and  one  of  his  blackamores  was  persuaded 
to  accept  of  baptism  from  the  Popish  priests,  and  to  turn 
Christian  papist;  which  was  a  great  trophy:  he  was  called 
James,  after  the  king  and  chancellor,  and  the  Apostle  James." 
^IbicL  p.  440. 


3ANTO  VI.]  THE    GUARD-ROOM.  257 

And  yet  the  jealous  niggard  grudge 
To  pay  the  forester  his  fee  ? 
I'll  have  my  share,  howe'er  it  be, 
Despite  of  Moray,  'Mar,  or  thee." 
Bertram  his  forward  step  withstood  ;  * 
And,  burning  in  his  vengeful  mood, 
Old  Allan,  though  unfit  for  strife, 
Laid  hand  upon  his  dagger-knife  ; 
But  Ellen  boldly  stepp'd  between, 
And  dropp'd  at  once  the  tartan  screen : — 
So,  from  his  morning  cloud,  appears 
The  sun  of  May,  through  summer  tears. 
The  savage  soldiery,  amazed,^ 
As  on  descended  angel  gazed  ; 
Even  hardy  Brent,  abash'd  and  tamed, 
Stood  half  admiring,  half  ashamed. 

VIII. 

Boldly  she  spoke, — "  Soldiers,  attend  I 
My  father  was  the  soldier's  friend  ; 
Cheer'd  him  in  camps,  in  marches  led, 
And  with  him  in  the  battle  bled. 
Not  from  the  valiant,  or  the  strong. 
Should  exile's  daughter  suffer  wrong."—' 
Answer'd  De  Brent,  most  forward  still 
In  every  feat  or  good  or  ill, — 

I  [ilS.— "  Bertram  \      ^^   I  violence  withstood."] 


*  [MS. — ^"  While  the  rude  soldiery,  amazed  "] 
I  [MS.—"  Should  Ellen  Douglas  suffer  wrong."] 

17 


Eo8  THE    LADY    OF    THE   LAKE.      [CASTO  VX 

"  I  shame  me  of  tlie  part  I  play'd  : 

And  thou  an  outlaw's  child,  poor  maid ! 

An  outlaw  I  by  Ibrest  laws, 

And  merry  Needwood  knows  the  cause. 

Poor  Rose, — if  Rose  be  living  now," — ^ 

He  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow, — 

"  Must  bear  such  age,  I  think,  as  thou. — 

Hear  ye,  my  mates ; — I  go  to  call 

The  Captain  of  our  watch  to  hall : 

There  lies  my  halberd  on  the  floor ; 

And  he  that  steps  my  halberd  o'er, 

To  do  the  maid  injurious  part, 

My  shaft  shall  quiver  in  his  heart ! — 

Beware  loose  spee-ch,  or  jesting  rough : 

Ye  all  know  John  de  Brent.     Enough.** 

IX. 

Their  Captain  came,  a  gallant  young, — 
(Of  Tullibardine's  house  he  sprung,) 
Nor  wore  he  yet  the  spurs  of  knight ; 
Gay  was  his  mien,  his  humour  hght, 
And,  though  by  courtesy  controll'd, 
Forward  his  speech,  his  bearing  bold. 
The  high-born  maiden  ill  could  brook 
The  scanning  of  his  curious  look 
And  dauntless  eye  ^ — and  yet,  in  sooth. 
Young  Lewis  was  a  generous  youth  ; 
But  Ellen's  lovely  face  and  mien, 

»  [MS. — "  '  My  Rose,'— he  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  broik    • 
*  Poor  Rose,— if  Rose  be  livijig  now.' "] 


CAvro  VI.]  THE    GUARD-ROOM.  259 

111  suited  to  the  garb  and  scene, 

Might  lightly  bear  construction  strange, 

And  give  loose  fancy  scope  to  range. 

"  Welcome  to  Stirling  towers,  fair  maid ! 

Come  ye  to  seek  a  chamj)ion's  aid, 

On  palfry  white,  with  harper  hoar. 

Like  errant  damosel  of  yore  ? 

Does  thy  high  quest  a  knight  require. 

Or  may  the  venture  suit  a  squire  ?  " — 

Her  dark  eye  flash'd ; — she  paused  and  sigh'd, — 

"  O  what  have  I  to  do  with  pride  ! — 

— Through  scenes  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  strife, 

A  suppliant  for  a  fat  tier's  hfe, 

I  crave  an  audience  of  the  King. 

Behold,  to  back  my  suit,  a  ring. 

The  royal  pledge  of  grateful  claims. 

Given  by  the  Monarch  to  Fitz-James."  * 

X. 

The  signet-ring  young  Lewis  took, 
With  deep  respect  and  alter'd  look  ; 
And  said, — "  This  ring  our  duties  own  ; 
And  pardon,  if  to  worth  unknown, 
Li  semblance  mean  obscurely  veil'd, 
Lady,  in  aught  my  folly  fail'd. 
Soon  as  the  day  flings  wide  his  gates, 
The  King  shall  know  what  suitor  waits. 
Please  you,  meanwhile,  in  fitting  bower 

I  [MS.—"  The  Monarch  gave  to  James  Fitz-James."] 


260  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [c^NTO  VI. 

Repose  you  till  his  waking  hour  ; 

Female  attendance  shall  obey 

Your  hest,  for  service  or  array. 

Permit  I  marshal  you  the  way." 

But,  ere  she  follow'd,  with  the  grace 

And  open  bounty  of  her  race, 

She  bade  her  slender  pui-se  be  shared 

Among  the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

The  rest  with  thanks  their  guerdon  took ; 

But  Brent,  with  shy  and  awkward  look, 

On  the  reluctant  maiden's  hold 

Forced  bluntly  back  the  profFer'd  gold ; — 

"  Forgive  a  haughty  Enghsh  heart, 

And  0  forget  its  ruder  part ! 

The  vacant  purse  shall  be  my  share,^ 

Which  in  my  barret-cap  I'll  bear, 

Perchance,  in  jeopardy  of  war, 

Where  gayer  crests  may  keep  afar." 

With  thanks, — 'twas  all  she  could, — the  maid 

His  ragged  courtesy  repaid. 

XL 

When  Ellen  forth  with  Lewis  went, 
Allan  made  suit  to  John  of  Brent : — 
"  My  lady  safe,  0  let  your  grace 
Give  me  to  see  my  master's  face  ! 
His  minstrel  I, — to  share  his  doom 
Bound  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 

*  [MS. — "  The  silken  purse  shall  serve  for  me. 
And  in  ray  barret-cap  shall  flee.' '] 


CANIO   VI.,  THE    GUARD-ROOil.  261 

Tenth  in  descent,  since  first  my  sires 
Waked  for  his  noble  house  their  Ijres, 
Nor  one  of  all  the  race  was  known 
But  prized  its  weal  above  their  own. 
With  the  Chief's  birth  begins  our  care; 
Our  harp  must  soothe  the  infant  heir, 
Teach  the  youth  tales  of  fight,  and  grace 
His  earliest  feat  of  field  or  chase ; 
In  peace,  in  war,  our  rank  we  keep, 
We  cheer  his  board,  we  soothe  his  sleep, 
Nor  leave  him  till  we  pour  our  verse, — 
A  doleful  tribute  ! — o'er  his  hearse. 
Then  let  me  share  his  captive  lot ; 
Tt  is  my  right — deny  it  not  I " — 
"  Little  we  reck,"  said  John  of  Brent, 
"  We  Southern  men,  of  long  descent ; 
Nor  wot  we  how  a  name — a  word — 
Makes  clansmen  vassals  to  a  lord : 
Yet  kind  my  noble  landlord's  part, — 
Gk)d  bless  the  house  of  Beaudesert ! 
And,  but  I  loved  to  diive  the  deer. 
More  than  to  guide  the  labouring  steer, 
I  had  not  dwelt  an  outcast  here. 
Come,  good  old  Minstrel,  follow  me ; 
Thy  Lord  and  Chieftain  shalt  thou  see.** 

xn. 
Then  from  a  rusted  iron  hook, 
A  bunch  of  ponderous  keys  he  took, 
Lighted  a  torch,  and  Allan  led 


.162  THE    LADY     OF    THE    LAKE.     [CA>-Io   VI. 

Through  grated  arch  and  passage  dread. 

Portals  they  pass'd,  where,  deep  within, 

Spoke  prisoner's  moan,  and  fetter's  din  ; 

Through  rugged  vauUs,^  where,  loosely  stored, 

Lay  wheel,  and  axe,  and  headsman's  swoid, 

And  many  an  hideous  engine  grim. 

For  wrenching  joint,  and  crushing  ^  limb, 

By  artist  formed,  who  deem'd  it  shame 

And  sin  to  give  their  work  a  name. 

They  halted  at  a  low-brow'd  porch, 

And  Brent  to  Allan  gave  the  torch, 

While  bolt  and  chain  he  backward  rolled, 

And  made  the  bar  unhasp  its  hold. 

They  enter'd ; — 'twas  a  prison  room 

Of  stern  security  and  gloom. 

Yet  not  a  dungeon  ;  for  the  day 

Through  lofty  gratings  found  its  way, 

And  rude  and  antique  garniture 

Deck'd  the  sad  walls  and  oaken  floor ; " 

Such  as  the  rugged  days  of  old 

Deem'd  fit  for  captive  noble's  hold. 

"  Here,"  said  De  Brent,  "  thou  mayest  remain  * 

Till  the  Leech  visit  him  again. 


1  [MS.—"  Low  broad  vaults."] 

2  [MS.—"  Stretching.''] 

8  [MS.—"  Flinty  floor."] 

<  [MS. "  Thou  mayest  remain 

Aiid  then,  retiring,  bolt  and  chain, 
And  rusty  bar,  he  drew  again. 
Roused  at  the  sound,"  &c.] 


CASTO  VI.]  THE    GUARD-ROOM.  26S 

Strict  is  his  charge,  the  warders  tell, 

To  tend  the  noble  prisoner  well.'* 

Retiring  then,  the  bolt  he  drew, 

And  the  lock's  murmurs  growl'd  anew. 

Roused  at  the  sound,  from  lowly  bed 

A  captive  feebly  raised  liis  head; 

The  wondering  Minstrel  look'd,  and  knew— 

Not  his  dear  Lord,  but  Roderick  Dhu ! 

For,  come  from  where  Clan- Alpine  fought, 

They,  erring,  deem'd  the  Chief  he  sought 

XIII. 

As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore 
Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 
Deserted  by  her  gallant  band. 
Amid  the  breakers  lies  astrand, — 
So,  on  his  couch,  lay  Roderick  Dhu ! 
And  oft  his  fever'd  limbs  he  threw 
In  toss  abrupt,  as  when  her  sides 
Lie  rocking  in  the  advancing  tides. 
That  shake  her  frame  with  ceaseless  beat, 
Yet  cannot  heave  her  from  her  seat; — 
O !  how  unlike  her  course  at  sea !  * 
Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  lea ! — 
Soon  as  the  Minstrel  he  could  scan, 
**  What  of  thy  lady  ? — of  my  clan  ? — 
My  mother  ? — Douglas  ? — tell  me  all  ? 
Have  they  been  ruin'd  in  my  fall  ? 

[MS. — "  0 !  how  unlike  her  course  on  main! 
Or  his  fret  step  on  hill  and  plain  I "] 


204  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.     [CANTO  VI. 

Ah,  jes  !  or  wherefore  art  thou  here  ! 

Yet  speak, — speak  boldly, — do  not  fear." — 

(For  Allan,  who  his  mood  well  knew, 

Was  choked  with  grief  and  terror  too.) 

"  Who  fought — who  fled  ? — Old  man,  be  brief;— 

Some  might — for  they  had  lost  their  Chief. 

Who  basely  live  ? — who  bravely  died  ?  " — 

**  O,  calm  thee,  Chief! " — the  Minstrel  cried, 

"  Ellen  is  safe ; " — "  For  that,  thank  Heaven !  "— 

**  And  hopes  are  for  the  Douglas  given ; — 

The  Lady  Margaret  too  is  well. 

And,  for  thy  clan, — on  field  or  fell. 

Has  never  harp  of  Minstrel  told,^ 

Of  combat  fought  so  true  and  bold ; 

Thy  stately  Pine  is  yet  unbent. 

Though  many  a  goodly  bough  is  rent." 

XIV. 

The  Chieftain  rear'd  his  form  on  high, 
And  fever's  fire  was  in  his  eye ; 
But  ghastly,  pale,  and  livid  streaks 
Chequer'd  his  swarthy  brow  and  cheeks. 
— "  Hark,  Minstrel !  I  have  heard  thee  play, 
With  measure  bold, -on  festal  day. 
In  yon  lone  isle,  .  .  .  again  where  ne'er 
Shall  harper  play,  or  warrior  hear !  .  .  . 
That  stirring  air  that  peals  on  high, 
O'er  Dermid's  race  our  victory. — 

1  [MS. — "  Shall  never  harp  of  minstrel  tell, 

Of  combat  fought  so  fierce  akid  well."] 


f  \KTO  -VT.")  THE    GUARD-ROOil.  265 

Strike  it !  * — and  then,  (for  well  thou  canst,) 
Free  from  thy  minstrel-spirit  glanced, 

1  There  are  several  instance=;,  at  least  in  traditicn,  of 
persons  so  mucli  attached  to  pnrticiilar  tnnes,  as  to  require 
to  hear  them  on  their  doa^hbed.  Such  an  ancedote  is  men- 
tioned by  the  hite  Mr.  Riddel  of  Glenriddel,  in  his  collection 
of  Border  tunes,  respecting  an  air  called  the  "  Dandling  of 
the  Bairns,"  for  which  a  certainGallovidian  laird  is  said  to 
have  evinced  this  strong  mark  of  partiality.  It  is  popularly 
told  of  a  famous  freebooter,  that  he  composed  the  tune  known 
by  the  name  of  Macpherson's  Rant,  while  under  sentence  of 
death,  and  played  it  at  the  gallows-tree.  Some  spirited 
words  have  been  adapted  to  it  by  Bums.  A  similar  story  is 
recounted  of  a  Welsh  bard,  who  composed  nnd  played  on  his 
deathbed  the  air  called  DnfyMy  Garregg  Wen.  But  the  most 
curious  example  is  given  by  Brantome,  of  a  maid  of  honour 
at  the  court  of  France,  entitled,  Mademoiselle  de  Liraeuil. 
"  Durant  sa  raaladie,  dont  elle  trespassa,  jamais  elle  ne  cessa, 
ains  causa  tousjour>:  car  elle  estoit  fort  grande  parleuse, 
brocardeuse,  et  trfes-biea  et  fort  a  propos,  et  tres-belle  aveo 
cela.  Quand  I'heure  de  sa  fin  fut  venue,  elle  fit  venir  a  soy 
son  valet,  (ainsi  que  le  filles  de  la  cour  en  ont  chacune  un,) 
qui  s'appelloit  Julien,  et  scavoit  tr^s-bien  joiier  du  violon. 
'Julien,'  luy  dit  elle, 'prenez  vostre  violon,  et  sounez  moy 
tousjours  jusques  a  ce  que  me  voyez  inorte  (car  je  m'y  en 
vais)  la  d^faite  des  Suisses,  et  le  mienx  que  vons  pourrez,  et 
quand  vous  serez  sur  le  mot,  "  Tout  est  perdu,"  sonnez  le 
par  quatre  ou  cing  fois  le  plus  piteusement  que  vous  pourrez,' 
ce  qui  fit  I'autre,  et  elleraesme  luy  adoit  de  la  voix,  et  quand 
ce  vint  '  tout  est  perdu,'  elle  le  rdltera  par  deux  fois ;  et  se 
touraant  de  I'autre  cost6  du  chevet,  elle  dit  a  ses  compagnes. 
'  Tout  est  perdu  a  ce  coup,  et  a  bon  escient; '  et  ainsi  d^c^da. 
Voila  une  morte  joyeuse  et  plaisante.  Je  tiens  ce  conte  de 
ieux  de  ses  compagne*,  dignes  de  foi,  qui  virent  jouer  ce 
myst^re." — Oeuvres  de  Braniome,  iii.  507.  The  tune  to  which 
Uiis  fair  lady  chcse  to  make  her  final  exit,  was  composed  on 
tne  defeat  of  the  Swiss  at  ilarignano.    The  burden  is  quoted 


^66  IHE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CAITTO  VI 

Fling  me  the  picture  of  the  fight, 

When  met  my  clan  the  Saxon  might. 

I'll  listen,  till  my  fancy  hears 

The  clang  of  swords,  the  crash  of  spears ! 

These  grates,  these  walls,  shall  vanish  then. 

For  the  fair  field  of  fighting  men, 

And  my  free  spirit  burst  away, 

As  if  it  soar'd  from  battle-fray." 

The  trembling  Bard  with  awe  obey'd, — 

Slow  on  the  harp  his  hand  he  laid ; 

But  soon  remembrance  of  the  sight 

He  witness'd  from  the  mountain's  height, 

With  what  old  Bertram  told  at  night,' 

Awaken'd  the  full  power  of  song. 

And  bore  him  in  career  along ; — 

As  shallop  launch'd  on  river's  tide. 

That  slow  and  fearful  leaves  the  side, 

But,  when  it  feels  the  middle  stream, 

Drives  downward  swift  as  lightning's  beam. 

XV. 

BATTLE   OF   BEAL'   AX   DUIXE.2 

"  The  I^Iinstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of.Benvenue, 

by  Panurge,  in  Rabelais,  and  consists  of  these  words,  imitat- 
ing the  jargon  of  the  Swiss,  which  is  a  mixture  of  French  and 
German: — 

"  Tout  est  ver  lore 
La  Tintelore, 
Tout  est  verlore,  bi  Got !  " 
1  [The  MS  has  not  this  line.] 
«  A  skinnish  actually  took  place  at  a  pass  thus  called  in 


CASTO  TI.]  THE    GUAKD-ROOiL  267 

For,  ere  he  parted,  he  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch  Achray — 

the  Trosficlis,  and  closed  with  the  remarkable  incident  men- 
tioned in  the  text.  It  was  greatly  posterior  in  date  to  the 
reign  of  James  V. 

*'  In  this  roughly-wooded  island,i  the  countr\-  people  se- 
creted their  wives  and  children,  and  their  most  valuable 
effects  from  the  rapacity  of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  during  their 
inroad  into  this  countr}-,  in  the  time  of  the  republic  Tbe<»e 
invaders,  not  venturing  to  ascend  by  the  ladders,  along  the 
side  of  the  lake,  took  a  more  circuitous  road,  through  the 
heart  of  the  Trosachs,  the  most  frequented  path  at  that 
time,  which  penetrates  the  wilderness  about  half-way  be- 
tween Binean  and  the  lake,  by  a  tract  called  Yea-chilleach, 
or  the  Old  Wife's  Bog. 

**  In  one  of  the  defiles  of  this  by-road,  the  men  of  the 
country  at  that  time  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the  invading 
enemy,  and  shot  one  of  Cromwell's  men,  whose  grave  marks 
the  scene  of  action,  and  gives  name  to  that  pass.2  In  revenge 
of  this  insult,  the  soldiers  resolved  to  plunder  the  island,  to 
violate  tlie  women,  and  put  the  children  to  death.  With  this 
brutal  intention,  one  of  the  party,  more  expert  than  the  rest, 
Bwam  towards  the  island,  to  fetch  the  boat  to  his  comrades, 
which  had  carried  the  women  to  their  asylum,  and  lay 
moored  in  one  of  the  creeks.  His  companions  stood  on  the 
shore  of  the  mainland,  in  full  view  of  all  that  was  to  pass, 
waiting  anxiously  for  his  return  with  the  boat.  But  just  as 
the  swimmer  had  got  to  the  nearest  point  of  the  island,  and 
was  laying  hold  of  a  black  rock,  to  get  on  shore,  a  heroine^ 
who  stood  on  the  very  point  where  he  meant  to  land,  hastily 
fnatching  a  dagger  from  below  her  apron,  with  one  stroke 
severed  his  head  from  the  body.  His  party  seeing  this 
disaster,  and  relinquishing  all  future  hope  of  revenge  or 
conquest,  made  the  best  of  their  way  out  of  their  perilous 

1  That  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Loch  Katrine,  so  oftftO 
mentioned  in  the  text. 
*  BeaUach  an  doine. 


268  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CANTO  VI 

Where  shall  he  find,  in  foreign  land, 

So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand ! — 

There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  fern, 

No  ripple  on  the  lake. 
Upon  her  eyry  nods  the  erne. 

The  deer  has  sought  the  brake  ; 
The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still, 
So  darkly  glooms  yon  thunder-cloud, 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  purple  shrond, 

Benledi's  distant  hill. 
Is  it  the  thunder's  solemn  sound 
That  mutters  deep  and  dread, 
Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 

The  warrior's  measured  tread  ? 
Is  it  the  lightning's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  streams. 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lance, 

The  sun's  retiring  beams  ? 
— I  see  the  dagger-crest  of  Mar, 
I  see  the  Moray's  silver  star, 
Wave  o'er  the  cloud  of  Saxon  war. 
That  up  the  lake  comes  winding  far  I 
To  hero  bound  for  battle-strife, 
Or  bard  of  martial  lay. 


situation.  This  amazon's  great-gi-andson  lives  at  Bridge  of 
Turk,  who,  besides  others,  attests  the  anecdote." — Sketch  of 
the  Scenery  near  CaUender,  Stirling,  1806,  p.  20.  I  have  only 
to  add  to  this  account,  that  the  heroine's  name  was  Helec 
Stuart. 


CAHTO  ri.]  THE    GUARD-ROOil.  269 

'Twere  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life, 
One  glance  at  their  an-ay  ! 

XVI. 

«  Their  light-arm'd  archers  far  and  near 

Survey'd  the  tangled  ground, 
Their  centre  ranks,  witli  pike  and  spear, 

A  twilight  forest  frown'd, 
Their  barbed  horsemen,  in  the  rear, 

The  stern  battaUa  crown'd. 
No  cymbal  clash'd,  no  clarion  rang, 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum  ; 
Save  heavy  tread,  and  armour's  clang, 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 
There  breathed  no  wind  their  crests  to  shake 

Or  wave  their  flags  abrpad ; 
Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seera'd  to  quake, 

That  shadow'd  o'er  their  road. 
Their  vaward  scouts  no  tidings  bring, 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe. 
Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  thing 

Save  when  they  stirr'd  the  roe  ; 
The  host  moves,  hke  a  deep  sea-wave, 
Where  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 

High-swelling,  dark,  and  slow. 
The  lake  is  pass'd,  and  now  they  gain 
A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain, 
Before  the  Trosach's  rugged  jaws : 
And  here  the  horse  and  speannen  pause. 
While  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen, 
Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men 


270  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CAATO  VI 

XVII. 

"  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 
Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell, 
As  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  that  fell. 
Had  peal'd  the  banner-cry  of  hell ! 
Forth  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven, 
Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 

The  archery  appear  ; 
For  life !  for  life  !  their  flight  they  ply— 
And  shriek,  and  shout,  and  battle-cry, 
And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high, 
And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 

Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 
Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race, 
Pursuers  and  pursued ; 
Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase. 
How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place. 
The  spearmen's  twilight  wood  ? — 

*  Down,  down,'  cried  Mar,  '  your  lances  down  ! 

Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe ' ! 
Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown. 
That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

At  once  lay  levell'd  low ; 
And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side, 
The  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide. — ^ 

*  We'll  quell  the  savage  mountaineer. 

As  their  Tinchel  ^  cows  the  game  ! 

*  [The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet.] 

a  A  circle  of  sportsmen,  who,  by  surrounding  a  great  spaoe, 
and  gradually  naiTowing,  brought  immense  quantities    of 


271 


CAKTO^I.]  THE    GUARD-EOOM. 

They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer, 
We'll  drive  them  back  as  tame.* 


XVIII. 

^  Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course, 
The  reUcs  of  the  archer  force, 
Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkhng  foam, 
Hisht  onward  did  Clan- Alpine  come. 
Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 
Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light, 

Each  targe  was  dark  below ; 
And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing, 
When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wmg, 
They  hurl'd  them  on  the  foe. 
I  heard  the  lance's  shivering  crash, 
As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash, 
I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clang, 
As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang ! 
But  Moray  wheel'd  his  rearward  rank 
Of  horsemen  on  Clan- Alpine's  flank, 

<  My  banner-man,  advance ! 

I  see,'  he  cried,  '  their  column  shake.— 
Now,  gallants  1  for  your  ladies'  sake. 

Upon  them  with  the  lance ! ' — 
The  horsemen  dashed  among  the  rout, 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom  . 
Their  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out. 
They  soon  make  lightsome  room. 

Jeer  together,  which  usually  made  desperate  efforts  to  break 
dirough  the  Tinchtl 


272  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [cANTO  VI 

Clan  Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne — 

Where,  where  was  Roderick  then  ! 
One  blast  upon  his  bugle  horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men. 
And  refluent  through  the  pass  of  fear* 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 
Vanish'd  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear, 
Vanish'd  the  mountain  sword. 
As  Bracklinn's  chasm  so  black  and  steep, 

Receives  her  roaring  linn, 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in, 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass  : 
None  linger  now  upon  the  plain, 
Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  fight  again. 

XIX. 

**  Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din, 
That  deep  and  doubling  pass  within, 
— Minstrel,  awaj  !  the  work  of  fote  * 
Is  bearing  on :  its  issue  wait, 
Where  the  rude  Trosach's  dread  defile 
Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isle. — 
Grej  Benvenue  I  soon  repass'd, 
lioch  Katrine  lay  beneath  me  cast. 

1  [MS. — "  And  refluent  down  the  darksome  pass 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 
There  toil'd  the  spearman's  struggling  spear, 

There  raged  the  mountain  sword."! 
«  [MS.—"  Away!  away  1  the  work  of  fate!  "] 


OAKTO  VI.]  THE    GUARD -ROOM.  273 

The  sun  is  set ; — the  clouds  are  met, 

The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven  ; 
An  inky  hue  of  vivid  blue 
To  the  deep  lake  is  given ; 
Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain  glen 
Swept  o'er  the  lake,  then  sunk  agen. 
I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 
Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Tro?ach's  gorge, 
Mine  ear  but  heard  the  sullen  sound, 
Which  like  an  eai'thquake  shook  the  ground, 
And  spoke  the  stern  and  desperate  sti-ife 
^  That  parts  not  but  with  parting  life,^ 
Seeming,  to  minstrel-ear,  to  toll  ^ 
The  dirge  of  many  a  passing  soul. 
Nearer  it  comes — the  dim-wood  glen 
The  martial  flood  disgorged  agen, 

But  not  in  mingled  tide ; 
The  plaided  warriors  of  the  North 
High  on  the  mountain  thunder  forth 

And  overhang  its  side  ; 
While  by  the  lake  below  appears 
The  dark'ning  cloud  of  Saxon  spears.  ^ 
At  weary  bay  each  shatter'd  band. 
Eyeing  their  foemen,  sternly  stand ; 

1  [ "  the  loveliness  in  death 

That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath." 
Byron's  Gioomt.] 
'  [MS. — "  And  seem'd  to  minstrel  ear,  to  toll 

The  parting  dirge  of  many  a  soul."] 
e  [MS.—"  While  by  the  darken'd  lake  below, 
File  out  the  spearmen  of  the  foe."] 
18 


274  THE   LADY    OF    THE    LAKE,      [canto  VI 

Their  banners  stream  like  tatter'd  sail, 
That  flings  its  fragments  to  the  gale, 
And  broken  arms  and  disarray 
Mai'k'd  the  fell  havoc  of  the  day. 

XX. 

"  Viewing  the  mountain's  ridge  askance, 
The  Saxon  stood  in  sullen  trance, 
Till  Moray  pointed  with  his  lance. 

And  cried — '  Behold  yon  isle  ! — 
•See !  none  are  left  to  guard  its  strand, 
But  women  weak,  that  wring  the  hand: 
'Tis  there  of  yore  the  robber  band 

Their  booty  wont  to  pile  ; — 
My  purse,  with  bonnet-pieces  store. 
To  him  will  swim  a  bow-shot  o'er, 
And  loose  a  shallop  from  the  shore. 
Lightly  we'll  tame  the  war-wolf  then, 
Lords  of  his  mate,  and  brood,  and  den.' 
Forth  from  the  ranks  a  spearman  sprung, 
On  earth  his  casque  and  corslet  rung, 

He  plunged  him  in  the  wave : — 
All  saw  the  deed — the  purpose  knew, 
And  to  their  clamours  Ben  venue 

A  mingled  echo  gave  ; 
The  Saxons  shout,  their  mate  to  cheer, 
The  helpless  females  scream  for  fear. 
And  yells  for  rage  the  mountaineer. 
'Twas  then,  as  by  the  outcry  riven, 
Pour'd  down  at  once  the  lowering  heaven ; 


SAHTOVI.]  THE    GUARD-ROOil.  275 

A  whirlwind  swept  Loch  Katrine's  breast. 

Her  billows  rear'd  their  snowy  crest. 

Well  for  the  swimmer  swell'd  they  high, 

To  mar  the  Highland  marksman's  eye ; 

For  round  him  shower'd,  'mid  rain  and  hail, 

The  vengeful  arrows  of  the  Gael. — 

In  vain.     He  nears  the  isle — and  lo  ! 

His  hand  is  on  a  shallop's  bow. 

— Just  then  a  flash  of  hghtning  came, 

It  tinged  the  waves  and  strand  with  flame : — ^ 

I  mark'd  Duncraggan's  widow'd  dame, 

Behind  an  oak  I  saw  her  stand, 

A  naked  dirk  gleam'd  in  her  hand  ; — 

It  darken'd, — but  amid  the  moan 

Of  waves  I  heard  a  dying  groan  ; — 

Another  flash ! — the  spearman  floats 

A  weltering  corse  beside  the  boats, 

And  the  stern  Matron  o'er  him  stood. 

Her  hand  and  dagger  streammg  blood. 

XXI. 

"  *  Revenge !  revenge  ! '  the  Saxons  cried. 

The  Gaels'  exulting  shout  rephed. 

Despite  the  elemental  rage, 

Again  they  hurried  to  engage  ; 

But,  ere  they  closed  in  desperate  fight, 

I  ^MS.  reads— 

"  It  tinged  the  boats  and  lake  with  flame." 
The  eight  closing  lines  of  the  stanza  are  interpolated  on  a 
dip  of  paper.] 


276  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [ CANTO  >T, 

Bloody  with  spurring  c^me  a  knight, 

Sprung  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag, 

Waved  'twixt  the  hosts  a  milk-white  flag. 

Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 

Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide, 

While,  in  the  Monarch's  name,  afar 

An  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war, 

For  Bothwell's  lord,  and  Roderick  bold, 

Were  both,  he  said,  in  captive  hold." 

— But  here  the  lay  made  sudden  stand, 

The  harp  escaped  the  minstrel's  hand ! — 

Oft  had  he  stolen  a  glance,  to  spy 

How  Roderick  brook'd  his  minstrelsy : 

At  first,  the  Chieftain,  to  the  chime, 

With  lifted  hand,  kept  feeble  time : 

That  motion  ceased, — yet  feehng  strong 

Varied  his  look  as  changed  the  song :  ^ 

At  length,  no  more  his  deafen'd  ear 

The  minstrel  melody  can  hear ; 

His  face  grows  sharp, — liis  hands  are  clench'd, 

As  if  some  pang  his  heart-strings  wrench'd ; 

Set  are  his  teeth,  his  fading  eye  ^ 

Is  sternly  fixed  on  vacancy ; 

Thus,  motionless,  and  moanless,  drew 

His  parting  breath,  stout  Roderick  Dhu ! — * 

i  'MS.—"  Glowed  in  his  look,  as  swe'Ied  the  song."J 
.[MS.— "bis   j  ""-7!  eye."] 

«  ["  Rob  Roy,  while  on  his  deathbed,  learned  that  a  person 
with  whom  he  was  at  enmity,  proposed  to  visit  him.    '  Raise 


WSTO   M.J  THE    GUAKD-ROOM.  277 

Old  Allan-bane  look'd  on  aghast, 
While  grim  and  still  his  spirit  pass*d ; 
But  when  he  saw  that  hfe  was  fled. 
He  pour'd  his  wailing  o'er  the  dead. 

XXII. 


"  And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid,^ 
Thy  foeman's  dread,  thy  people's  aid, 
Breadalljane's  boast,  Clai-Alpine's  shade ! 
For  thee  shall  none  a  requiem  say  ? 
— For  thee, — who  loved  the  minstrel's  lay, 
For  thee,  of  Bothwell's  house  the  stay, 
The  shelter  of  her  exiled  line.* 
E'en  in  this  prison-house  of  thine, 
I'll  wail  for  Alpine's  honour'd  Pine  ! 


me  from  my  bed,'  said  the  invalid;  '  throw  my  plaid  around 
me,  and  bring  me  my  claymore,  dirk,  and  pistols, — it  shall 
never  be  said  that  a  foeman  saw  Bob  Roy  MacGregor  de- 
fenceless and  unarmed.'  His  foeman,  conjectured  to  be  one 
of  the  MacLarens  before  and  after  mentioned,  entered  and 
paid  his  compliments,  enquiring  after  the  health  of  his  for- 
midable neighbour.  Rob  Roy  maint;iined  a  cold  haughty 
tivility  during  their  short  conference;  and  so  soon  as  he  bad 
left  the  hoase,  *  Xow,'  he  said,  'all  is  over — let  the  piper  play, 
JIa  til  mi  talidh,'  [we  return  no  more,]  and  he  is  said  to  have 
expired  before  the  dirge  was  finished." — TntrodHciion  to  Rot 
Rc»f,  Wateriey  Novels,  vol.  vii.  p.  85.] 

1  [MS. — "'And  art  thou  gone,'  the  Minstrel  said  "J 

*  [MS. — ''  The  mightiest  of  a  mighty  line."] 


278  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  VI 

"What  groans  shall  yonder  valleys  fill! 
What  shrieks  of  grief  shall  rend  yon  hill ! 
What  tears  of  burning  rage  shall  thrill, 
When  mourns  thy  tribe  thy  battles  done, 
Thy  fall  before  the  race  was  won, 
Thy  sword  ungirt  ere  set  of  sun ! 
There  breathes  not  clansman  of  thy  line, 
But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine. — 
O  woe  for  Alpine's  honour'd  Pine  ! 

"  Sad  was  thy  lot  on  mortal  stage ! — 
The  captive  thrush  may  brook  the  cage, 
The  prison'd  eagle  dies  for  rage. 
Brave  spirit,  do  not  scorn  my  strain  ! 
And,  when  its  notes  awake  again, 
Even  she,  so  long  beloved  in  vain. 
Shall  with  my  harp  her  voice  combine, 
And  mix  her  woe  and  tears  with  mine. 
To  wail  Clan- Alpine's  honour'd  Pine." 

XXIII. 

Ellen,  the  while,  with  bursting  heart, 
Remain'd  in  lordly  bower  apart, 
Where  play'd,  with  many  colon r'd  gleams. 
Through  storied  pane  the  rising  beams. 
In  vain  on  gilded  roof  they  fall, 
And  light en'd  up  a  tapestried  wall. 
And  for  her  use  a  menial  train 
A  rich  collation  spread  in  vain. 


3ASTO  VLl  THE    GUARD-ROOM.  279 

The  banquet  proud,  the  chamber  gay,* 

Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  astray ; 

Or,  if  she  look'd,  'twas  but  to  say. 

With  better  omen  dawn'd  the  day 

In  that  lone  isle,  where  waved  on  high 

The  dun-deer's  hide  for  canopy  ; 

Where  oft  her  noble  father  shared 

The  simple  meal  her  care  prepared, 

While  Lufra,  crouching  by  her  side, 

Her  station  claim'd  with  jealous  pride, 

And  Douglas,  bent  on  woodland  game,* 

Spoke  of  the  chase  to  Malcolm  Graeme, 

Whose  answer  oft  at  random  made. 

The  wandering  of  his  thoughts  betrayed. — 

Those  who  such  simple  joys  have  known, 

Are  taught  to  prize  them  when  they're  gone- 

But  sudden,  see,  she  lifts  her  head ! 

The  window  seeks  with  cautious  tread. 

What  distant  music  has  the  power 

To  win  her  in  this  woeful  hour ! 

*Twas  from  a  turret  that  o'erhung 

Her  latticed  bower,  the  strain  Avas  sung. 

XXIV. 
LAY  OF  THE   IMPRISONED   HUNTSMAN. 

"  My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hoody 
My  idle  greyhound  loathes  his  food, 

1  [MS. — "  The  banquet  gay,  tlie  chamber's  pride, 
Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  aside."! 
*  [MS. "  earnest  on  his  game."] 


280  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      ICAXTO  VI 

My  horse  is  weary  of  his  stall, 
And  I  am  sick  of  captive  thrall. 
I  wish  I  were  as  I  have  been, 
Hunting  the  hart  in  forest  green, 
With  bended  bow  and  bloodhoitnd  free. 
For  that's  the  life  is  meet  for  me.^ 
I  hate  to  learn  the  ebb  of  time, 
From  yon  dull  ^  steeple's  drowsy  chime, 
Or  mai'k  it  as  the  sunbeams  crawl, 
Inch  after  inch,  along  the  wall. 
The  lark  was  wont  my  matins  ring,* 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sing ; 
These  towers,  although  a  king's  they  be, 
Have  not  a  hall  of  joy  for  me."* 
No  more  at  dawning  morn  I  rise, 
And  sun  myself  in  Ellen's  eyes, 
Driv^e  the  fleet  deer  the  forest  through, 
And  homeward  wend  with  evening  dew : 
A  blithesome  welcome  blithely  meet, 
And  lay  my  trophies  at  her  feet ; 
While  fled  the  eve  on  wing  of  glee, — 
That  life  is  lost  to  love  and  me ! " 

XXV. 

The  heart-sick  lay  was  hardly  said. 
The  hst'ner  had  not  turn'd  her  head, 

'  [MS. "was  meant  for  me."] 

2  [MS.—"  From  durkeu'd  steeple's,"] 
«  [MS, — "  The  lively  lark  my  matins  rung, 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sung,"] 
*  [MS. — "  Have  not  a  hall  should  harbour  me."] 


0  Vl.T  THE    GUARD-ROOJI.  281 

It  trickled  still,  the  starting  tear, 

"When  light  a  footstep  struck  her  ear, 

And  Snowdoun's  graceful  Knight  was  near. 

She  turn'd  the  hastier,  lest  again 

The  prisoner  should  renew  his  strain. 

"  O  welcome,  brave  Fitz-James  I "  she  said ; 

"  How  may  an  almost  orphan  maid 

Pay  the  deep  debt  " "  0  say  not  so, 

To  me  no  gratitude  you  owe. 
Not  mine,  alas !  the  boon  to  give, 
And  bid  thy  noble  father  live ; 
I  can  but  be  thy  guide,  sweet  maid, 
With  Scotland's  King  thy  suit  to  aid. 
No  tyrant  he,  though  ire  and  pride 
May  lay  his  better  mood  aside. 
Come,  Ellen,  come  ! — 'tis  more  than  time, 
He  holds  his  court  at  morning  prime.'* 
With  beating  heart,  and  bosom  wrung, 
As  to  a  brother's  arms  she  clung. 
Gently  he  dried  the  falling  tear. 
And  gently  whisper'd  hope  and  cheer ; 
Her  faltering  steps  half  led,  half  staid. 
Through  gallery  fair  and  high  arcade, 
Till,  at  his  touch,  its  wings  of  pride 
A  portal  arch  unfolded  wide. 

xxvi. 
Within  'twas  brilliant  all  and  light,^ 
A  thronging  scene  of  figures  bright ; 

1  [MS.—"  Witliin  't\va.s  brilliant  all,  and  bright 
The  vision  glow'd  on  Ellen's  sight."] 


282  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  Vl 

It  glow'd  on  Ellen's  dazzled  sight, 

As  when  the  settinp^  sun  has  <];iven 

Ten  thousand  hues  to  summer  even, 

And  from  their  tissue,  fancy  frames 

Aerial  knights  and  fairy  dames. 

Still  by  Fitz- James  her  footing  staid ; 

A  few  faint  steps  she  forward  made, 

Then  slow  her  drooping  head  she  raised. 

And  fearful  round  the  presence  gazed ; 

For  him  she  sought,  who  own'd  this  state,^ 

The  dreaded  prince  whose  will  was  fate ! — 

She  gazed  on  many  a  princely  port, 

Might  well  have  ruled  a  royal  court ; 

On  many  a  splendid  garb  she  gazed, — 

Then  turn'd  bewilder'd  and  amazed, 

For  all  stood  bare  ;  and,  in  the  room, 

Fitz-James  alone  wore  cap  and  plume. 

To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent ; 

On  him  each  courtier's  eye  was  bent ; 

Midst  furs  and  silks  and  jewels  sheen, 

He  stood,  in  simple  Lincoln  gi-een. 

The  centre  of  the  glittering  ring. — 

And  Snowdoun's  Bjiight  is  Scotland's  KingP 

XXVII. 

As  wreath  of  snow,  on  mountain-breast, 
Slides  from  the  rock  that  gave  it  rest. 
Poor  Ellen  ghded  from  her  stay,* 

1  [MS.—"  For  him  who  own'd  this  royal  state."] 

«  [See  Appendix,  Note  Q.] 

*  [MS. "  shiinking,  quits  her  stay."] 


cAXTo  VI.]  THE  guard-room:.  283 

And  at  the  ISIonarcVs  feet  she  lay ; 

No  word  her  choking  voice  commands, — 

She  show'd  the  ring— she  clasp'd  her  handa. 

O !  not  a  moment  could  he  brook, 

The  generous  prince,  that  suppliant  look ! 

Gently  he  raised  her, — and,  the  while, 

Check'd  with  a  glance  the  circle's  smile  ; 

Graceful,  but  grave,  her  brow  he  kiss'd, 

And  bade  her  terrors  be  dismiss'd  : — 

"  Yes,  Fair ;  the  wandering  poor  Fitz-James 

The  fealty  of  Scotland  claims. 

To  him  thy  woes,  thy  wishes,  bring ; 

He  will  redeem  his  signet  ring. 

Ask  nought  for  Douglas  ; — yester  even, 

His  prince  and  he  have  much  forgiven : 

Wrong  hath  he  had  from  slanderous  tongue, 

I,  from  his  rebel  kinsmen  wrong. 

We  would  not  to  the  vulgar  crowd 

Yield  what  they  craved  with  clamour  loud ; 

Calmly  we  heard  and  judged  his  cause. 

Our  council  aided,  and  our  laws. 

I  stanch'd  thy  father's  death-feud  stem, 

With  stout  De  Vaux  and  Grey  Glencaim ; 

And  Bothwell's  Lord  henceforth  we  own 

The  friend  and  bulwark  of  our  Throne. — 

But,  lovely  infidel,  how  now  ? 

What  clouds  thy  misbelieving  brow  ? 

Lord  James  of  Douglas,  lend  thme  aid ; 

Thou  must  confirm  this  doubtuig  maid.** 


284.  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CANTO  VI 

XXVIII. 

Then  forth  the  noble  Douglas  sprung, 
And  on  his  neck  his  dau;]fhter  huu^r. 
The  monarch  drank,  that  happy  hour. 
The  sweetest,  holiest  draught  of  Power, — 
When  it  can  say,  with  godlike  voice, 
Arise,  sad  Virtue,  and  rejoice ! 
Yet  would  not  James  the  general  eye 
On  Nature's  raptures  long  should  pry ; 
He  stepp'd  between — "  Nay,  Douglas,  nay, 
Steal  not  my  proselyte  away  ! 
The  riddle  'tis  my  right  to  read. 
That  brought  this  happy  chance  to  speed. — 
Yes,  Ellen,  when  disguised  I  stray 
In  life's  more  low  but  happier  way,^ 
'Tis  under  name  which  veils  my  power. 
Nor  falsely  veils — for  Stirling's  tower 
Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims,^ 

1  [MS. — "In  lowly  life's  more  happy  way."] 
'i  William  of  Worcester,  who  wrote  about  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  calls  Stirling  Castle  Snowdoun.    Sir  David 
Lindsay  bestows  the  same  epithet  upon  it  in  his  complaint 
of  the  Papingo: — 

"  Adieu,  fair  Snawdoun,  with  thy  towers  high, 
Thy  chapele-royal,  park,  and  table  round; 
May,  June,  and  July,  would  I  dwell  in  thee, 
Were  I  a  man,  to  hear  the  birdis  sound, 
Whilk  doth  againe  thy  royal  rock  reboand." 

Mr.  Chalmers,  in  his  late  excellent  edition  of  Sir  David 
Lindsay's  works,  has  refuted  the  chimerical  derivation  of 


CAKTO  VI.]  THE    GUAKD-ROOM.  285 

And  Nonnans  call  me  James  Fitz- James. 

Thus  watch  I  o'er  insulted  laws, 

Thus  learn  to  right  the  injured  cause.*' — 

Then,  in  a  tone  apart  and  low, 

— "  Ah,  little  trait'ress !  none  must  know 

What  idle  dream,  what  lighter  thought. 

What  vanity  full  dearly  bought, 

Join'd  to  thine  eye's  dark  witchcraft,  drew 

My  spell-bound  steps  to  Benvenue,* 

In  dangerous  hour,  and  almost  gave 

Thy  Monarch's  life  to  mountain  glaive ! " — 

Aloud  he  spoke — "  Thou  still  dost  hold 

That  little  talisman  of  gold, 

Pledge  of  my  faith,  Fitz-James's  ring — * 

What  seeks  fair  Ellen  of  the  King?" 

Snawdoun  from  snedding,  or  cutting.  It  was  probably  de- 
rived from  the  romantic  legend  which  connected  Stirling  with 
King  Arthur,  to  which  the  mention  of  the  Round  Table  gives 
countenance.  The  ring  within  which  justs  were  formerly 
practised,  in  the  castle  park,  is  still  called  the  Round  Table. 
Snawdoun  is  the  official  title  of  one  of  the  Scottish  heralds, 
whose  epithets  seem  in  all  countries  to  have  been  fantas- 
tically adopted  from  ancient  history  or  romance. 

It  appears  (see  Appendix  Note  Q.)  that  the  real  name  by 
which  James  was  actually  distinguished  in  his  private  excur- 
sions, was  the  Goodman  of  Ballenguich ;  derived  from  a  steep 
pass  leading  up  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  so  called.  But  the 
epithet  would  not  have  suited  poetry,  and  would  besides  at 
once,  and  prematurely,  have  announced  the  plot  to  many  of 
my  countrymen,  among  whom  the  traditional  stories  above 
meuticnsd  are  still  current. 

1  [MS.-"  Thy  sovereign  back  )  ^^  Benvenue."] 

Thy  sovereign's  steps  ) 
a  [MS.—"  Pledge  of  Fitz-James'a  faith,  the  ring."] 


286  THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.      [CANTO  VI 

XXTX. 

Full  well  the  conscious  maiden  guess'd 

He  probed  the  weakness  of  her  oreast ; 

But,  with  that  consciousness,  there  came 

A  lightening  of  her  fears  for  Gra3me, 

And  ^  more  she  deem'd  the  INIonarch's  ire 

Kindled  'gainst  him,  who,  for  her  sire, 

Rebellious  broadsword  boldly  drew  ; 

And,  to  her  generous  feeling  true, 

She  craved  the  grace  of  Roderick  Dhu. — 

"Forbear  thy  suit: — the  King  of  Kings 

Alone  can  stay  life's  parting  wings, 

I  know  his  heart,  I  know  his  hand, 

Have  shared  his  cheer,  and  proved  his  brand:— 

My  fairest  earldom  would  I  give 

To  bid  Clan-Alpine's  Chieftain  live  ! — 

Hast  thou  no  other  boon  to  crave  ? 

No  other  captive  friend  to  save  ?  " 

Blushing,  she  turn'd  her  from  the  King, 

And  to  the  Douglas  gave  the  ring, 

As  if  she  Avish'd  her  sire  to  speak 

The  suit  that  stain'd  her  glowing  cheek. — 

"  Nay,  then,  my  pledge  has  lost  its  force, 

And  stubborn  justice  holds  her  course. — • 

1  [MS. — "  And  in  her  breast  strove  maiden  shame; 
More  deep  she  deem'd  the  Monarch's  ire 
Kindled  'gainst  him,  who,  I'or  her  sire, 
Against  his  Sovereign  broadsword  drew; 
And,  with  a  pleading,  warm  and  true, 
She  craved  the  grace  of  Roderick  Dha."] 


KASTO  VI.]  THE    GUARD-R003I.  287 

Malcolm,  come  forth !  ** — And,  at  the  word, 
Do^vn  kneel'd  the  Graeme^  to  Scotland's  Lord. 
"  For  thee,  rash  youth,  no  supphant  sues, 
From  thee  may  Vengeance  claim  her  dues, 
Who,  nurtured  underneath  our  smile, 
Hast  paid  our  care  by  treacherous  wile, 
And  sought,  amid  thy  faithful  clan, 
A  refuge  for  an  outlaw'd  man, 
Dishonouring  thus  thy  loyal  name. — 

Fetters  and  warder  for  the  Graeme  ! " 

His  chain  of  gold  the  King  unstrung, 
The  hnks  o'er  Malcolm's  neck  he  flung. 
Then  gently  drew  the  glittering  band, 
And  laid  the  clasp  on  Ellen's  hand.^ 

i  [Malcolm  Graeme  has  too  insignificant  a  part  assigned 
him,  considering  the  favour  in  which  he  is  held  Loth  by  El- 
len and  the  author;  and  in  bringing  out  the  shaded  and  im- 
perfect character  of  Ko<lerick  Dim,  as  a  contrast  to  the  purer 
virtue  of  his  rival,  Mr.  Scott  seems  to  have  fallen  into  the 
common  error,  of  making  him  more  interesting  than  him 
■whose  virtues  he  was  intended  to  set  off,  and  converted  the 
villain  of  the  jjiece  in  some  measure  into  its  hero.  A  modem 
poet,  however,  may  perhaps  be  pardoned  for  an  error,  of 
which  Milton  himself  is  thought  not  to  have  kept  clear,  and 
for  which  there  seems  so  natural  a  cause  in  the  difference 
between  poetical  and  amiable  characters." — .Jeffrey.] 

2  [ "And  now,  waving  myself,  let  me  talk  to  you  of  the 

Prince  Regent.  He  ordered  me  to  be  presented  to  him  at  a 
ball;  and  after  some  sayings  peculiarly  pleasing  fntm  royal 
lips,  as  to  my  own  attempts,  he  talked  to  me  of  you  and  your 
immortalities:  he  preferred  you  to  every  bard  past  and  pres- 
ent, and  asked  which  of  your  works  pleased  me  most.  It 
was  a  difficult  question.    I  answered,  I  thought  the  '  Lay.* 


288  THE   LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  VI 

He  said  his  own  opinion  was  nearly  s.milar.  In  speaking  of 
the  others,  I  told  iiim  that  I  thought  you  more  particularly  the 
poet  of  Princes,  as  iliey  never  appeared  more  fascinating  than 
in  '  Marmion '  and  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  He  was  pleased 
to  coincide,  and  to  dwell  on  the  description  of  your  Jameses 
as  no  less  royal  than  poetical.  He  spoke  alternately  of  Homer 
and  yourself,  and  seemed  well  acquainted  with  both."  &c. — 
Letter  from  Lord  Byron  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  July  6, 1812. 
Btbon's  Life  and  Works,  voL  ii.  p.  166] 


CAJrro  VI.]  THE   GUAKD-KOOM.  289 


Harp  of  the  North,  farewell !  The  hills  grow  dark* 

On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descendmg ; 
In  twilight  copse  the  glow-woi-m  lights  her  spark. 

The  deer,  half-seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending. 
Resume  thy  wizard  elm !  the  fountain  lending, 

And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy ; 
Thy  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending, 

With  distiint  echo  fi-om  the  fold  and  lea, 
And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and  lium  of  housing 
bee. 

Yet,  once  again,  farewell,  thou  Minstrel  Harp  1 

Yet,  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway. 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp 

;May  idly  cavil  at  an  idle  lay. 
Much  have  I  owed  thy  strains  on  hfe's  long  way, 

Through  secret  woes  the  world  has  never  known, 
When  on  the  weary  night  dawn'd  wearier  day, 

And  bitterer  was  the  grief  devour'd  alone. 
That  I  o'erUve  such  woes,  Enchantress !  is  thine 
own. 

Hark !  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire. 
Some  Spirit  of  the  Air  has  waked  thy  string  I 

Tis  now  a  seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire, 
*Tis  now  the  brush  of  Fairy's  frolic  wing. 
19 


290  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.       [CANTO  VL 

Receding  now,  the  dying  numbers  ring 
Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell, 

And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 
A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell — 

And  now,  'tis  silent  all ! — Enchantress,  fare  thee 
well !  1 

1  ["  On  a  comparison  of  the  merits  of  this  poem  with  the 
two  former  productions  of  the  sa^ne  unquestioned  genius,  we 
are  inclined  to  bestow  on  it  a  very  decided  preference  over 
both.  It  would  perhaps  be  difficult  to  select  SLr\y  one  passage 
of  such  genuine  inspiration,  as  one  or  two  that  might  be 
pointed  out  in  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel — and,  perhaps, 
in  strength  and  discrimination  of  character,  it  may  fall  short 
of  Marmion;  although  we  are  loath  to  resign  either  the  rude 
and  savage  generosity  of  Roderick,  the  romantic  chivalry  ol 
James,  or  the  playful  simplicity,  the  aftectionate  tenderness, 
the  modest  courage  of  Ellen  Douglas,  to  the  claims  of  any 
competitors  in  the  last-mentioned  poem.  But,  for  interest 
and  artificial  management  in  the  story,  for  general  ease  and 
grace  of  versification,  and  correctness  of  language.  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake  must  be  universally  allowed,  we  think,  to  excel, 
and  very  far  excel,  either  of  her  predecessors." — Critical 
jReview.] 

["  There  is  nothing,  in  ^Ir.  Scott,  of  the  severe  and  ma- 
jestic style  of  Milton — or  of  the  terse  and  fine  composition 
of  Pope — or  of  the  elaborate  elegance  and  melody  of  Camp- 
bell,— or  even  of  the  flowing  and  redundant  diction  of  Sou- 
they, — but  there  is  a  medlej'-  of  bright  images  and  glowing, 
set  carelessly  and  loosely  together — a  diction  tinged  succes 
sively  with  the  careless  richness  of  Shaks{)eare,  the  harsh 
ness  and  antique  simplicity  of  the  old  romances,  the  home 
liness  of  vulgar  ballads  and  anecdotes,  and  the  sentimenta) 
glitter  of  the  most  modern  poetry — passing  from  the  border* 
of  the  ludicrous  to  those  of  the  sublime — alternately  minut^ 
and  energetic — sometimes  artificial,  and  frequently  negligent. 
but  always  full  of  spirit  and  vivacity — abounding  in  images 


CANTO  VI.]  THE    GUARD-ROOM.  291 

that  are  striking  at  first  sight  to  minds  of  every  contexture — 
and  never  expressing  a  sentiment  which  it  can  cost  the  most 
ordinary  reader  any  exertion  to  comprehend.  Upon  the 
whole,  we  are  inclined  to  think  more  liighly  of  The  Lady  of 
the  Luke  than  of  either  of  its  author's  former  publications. 
We  ar§  more  sure,  however,  that  it  has  fewer  faults,  than 
that  it  has  greater  beauties;  and  as  its  beauties  bear  a  strong 
resemblance  to  those  with  which  the  public  has  been  already 
made  familiar  in  these  celebrated  works,  we  should  not  be 
surprised  if  its  popularity  were  less  splendid  and  remark- 
able. For  our  own  parts,  however,  we  are  of  opinion,  that 
it  will  be  oftener  read  hereafter  than  either  of  them ;  and  that 
if  it  had  appeared  first  in  the  serie;?,  their  reception  would 
have  been  less  favourable  than  that  which  it  has  experienced. 
It  is  more  polished  in  its  diction,  and  more  regular  in  its 
versification;  the  story  is  constructed  with  infinitely  more 
skill  and  address;  there  is  a  greater  proportion  of  pleasing 
and  tender  passages,  with  much  less  antiquarian  detail :  aufl, 
upon  the  whole,  a  larger  variety  of  characters,  more  artfully 
and  judic'ou.ily  contrasted.  There  is  nothing  so  Lne,  per- 
haps, as  the  battle  in  Marmion — or  so  picturesque  as  some 
of  the  scattered  sketches  in  the  Lay;  but  there  is  a  richness 
and  a  spirit  in  the  whole  piece,  which  does  not  pervade  either 
of  these  poems — a  profusion  of  incident,  and  a  shifting  bril- 
liancy of  colouring,  that  reminds  us  of  the  witchery  of  Ariosto 
— and  a  constant  elasticity,  and  occasional  energy,  which 
»eem  to  belong  more  peculiarly  to  the  author  now  before 
us."— Jeffrey  J 


APPENDIX 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 


APPENDIX 


Note  A. 


A  gray-haifd  sire,  whose  eye  intent 
Was  on  the  vision' d  future  bent. — P.  46. 

If  force  of  evidence  could  authorize  us  to  believe 
facts  inconsistent  with  the  general  laws  of  nature, 
enough  might  be  produced  in  favour  of  the  existence 
of  the  Second-sight.  It  is  called  In  Gaelic  Taish- 
itaraugh,  from  Taish,  an  unreal  or  shadowy  appear- 
ance; and  those  possessed  of  the  faculty  are  called 
Taishatrin,  which  may  be  aptly  translated  visionaries. 
Martin,  a  steady  believer  in  the  second-sight,  gives  the 
follo^v^ng  account  of  It : — 

"  The  second-sight  Is  a  singular  faculty,  of  seeing  an 
otherwise  Invisible  object,  without  any  previous  means 
used  by  the  person  that  used  it  for  that  end  ;  the  ^isioIl 
makes  such  a  lively  impression  upon  the  seers,  that 
they  neither  see,  nor  think  of  any  thing  else,  except 
(he  vision,  as  long  as  It  continues  ;  and  then  they  ap- 
pear pensive  or  jo\nal,  according  to  the  object  that 
was  represented  to  them. 

"At  the  sight  of  a  vision,  the  eyelids  of  the  person 
are  erected,  and  the  eyes  continue  sfciring  until  the 


296  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

object  vanish  This  is  obvious  to  others  who  are  by, 
when  the  persons  happen  to  see  a  vision,  and  occurred 
more  than  once  to  my  own  observation,  and  to  others 
that  were  with  me. 

"  There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  acquaintance  ob- 
served, that  when  he  sees  a  vision,  the  inner  part  of 
his  ej'elids  turns  so  far  upwards,  that  after  the  object 
disappears,  he  must  draw  them  down  with  his  fingers, 
and  sometimes  employ  others  to  draw  them  down,  which 
he  finds  to  be  the  much  easier  way. 

"  This  faculty  of  the  second-sight  does  not  lineally 
descend  in  a  family,  as  some  imagine,  for  I  know  several 
parents  who  are  endowed  with  it,  but  their  children 
not,  and  vice  versa  ;  neither  is  it  acquired  by  any  pre- 
vious compact.  And,  after  a  strict  inquiry,  I  could 
never  learn  that  this  faculty  was  communicable  any 
way  whatsoever. 

"  The  seer  knows  neither  the  object,  time,  nor  place 
of  a  vision,  before  it  appears ;  and  the  same  object  is 
often  seen  by  difierent  persons  living  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  one  another.  The  true  way  of  judging 
as  to  the  time  and  circumstance  of  an  object,  is  by  ob- 
servation ;  for  several  persons  of  judgment,  without 
this  faculty,  are  more  capable  to  judge  of  the  design  of 
a  vision,  than  a  novice  that  is  a  seer.  If  an  object  ap- 
pear in  the  day  or  night,  it  will  come  to  pass  sooner  or 
later  accordingly. 

"  If  an  object  is  seen  early  in  the  morning,  (which 
is  not  frequent,)  it  will  be  accomplished  in  a  few  hours 
afterwards.  If  at  noon,  it  will  commonly  be  accom- 
plished that  very  day.  If  in  the  evening,  perhaps  that 
mght ;  if  after  candles  be  lighted,  it  will  be  accom 
plished  that  night ;  the  later  alwa}s in  accomplishment, 


LAI>T   OF   THE   LAKE.  297 

by  weeks,  months,  and  sometimes  years,  according  to 
the  time  of  night  the  \ision  is  seen. 

"  When  a  shroud  is  perceived  about  one,  it  is  a  sure 
propnaostic  of  death ;  the  time  is  judged  according  to  the 
height  of  it  about  the  person ;  for  if  it  is  seen  above  the 
middle,  death  is  not  to  be  expected  for  the  space  of  a 
year,  and  perhaps  some  months  longer ;  and  as  it  is  fre- 
quently seen  to  ascend  higher  towards  the  head,  death  is 
concluded  to  be  at  hand  within  a  few  days,  if  not  hours, 
as  daily  experience  confirms.  Examples  of  this  kind 
were  shown  me,  when  the  persons  of  whom  the  ob- 
servations were  then  made,  enjoyed  perfect  health. 

"  One  instance  was  lately  foretold  by  a  seer,  tha^ 
was  a  novice,  concerning  the  death  of  one  of  my  ac- 
quaintance ;  this  was  communicated  to  a  few  only,  and 
with  great  confidence  ;  I  being  one  of  the  number,  did 
not  in  the  least  regard  it,  until  the  death  of  the  person, 
about  the  time  foretold,  did  confirm  me  of  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  prediction.  The  novice  mentioned  above, 
is  now  a  skilful  seer,  as  appears  from  many  late  in- 
stances ;  he  lives  in  the  parish  of  St.  Marj-'s,  the  most 
northern  in  Skie. 

"  If  a  woman  is  seen  standing  at  a  man's  left  hand, 
it  is  a  presage  that  she  will  be  his  wife,  whether  they 
be  married  to  others,  or  unmarried  at  the  time  of  the 
apparition. 

"  If  two  or  three  women  are  seen  at  once  near  a 
man's  left  hand,  she  that  is  next  him  will  undoubtedly 
be  bis  wife  first,  and  so  on,  whether  all  three,  or  the 
man,  be  single  or  married  at  the  time  of  the  ^-ision  or 
not ;  of  which  there  are  several  late  instances  among 
those  of  my  acquaintance.  It  is  an  ordinary  thing  for 
them  to  see  a  man  that  is  to  come  to  the  house  shortly 


298  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

after ;  and  if  he  is  not  of  the  seer's  acquaintance,  yet 
he  gives  such  a  lively  description  of  his  stature,  com- 
plexion, habit,  &c.,  that  upon  his  arrival  he  answers 
the  character  given  him  in  all  respects, 

"  If  the  person  so  appearing  be  one  of  the  seer's  jio- 
quaintance,  he  will  tell  his  name,  as  well  as  other  par- 
ticulars ;  and  he  can  tell  by  his  countenance  whether 
he  comes  in  a  good  or  bad  humour. 

"I  have  been  seen  thus  myself  by  seers  of  both 
sexes,  at  some  hundred  miles'  distance  ;  some  that  saw 
me  in  this  manner  had  never  seen  me  personally,  and 
It  happened  according  to  their  vision,  without  any  pre- 
vious design  of  mine  to  go  to  these  places,  my  coming 
there  being  purely  accidental. 

"It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see  houses,  gardens, 
and  trees,  in  places  void  of  all  three  ;  and  this  in  pro- 
gress of  lime  uses  to  be  accomplished ;  as  at  Magshot, 
in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  where  there  were  but  a  few  sorry 
cowhouses,  thatched  with  straw,  yet  in  a  very  few 
years  after,  the  vision,  which  appeared  often,  was  ac- 
complished, by  the  building  of  several  good  houses  on 
the  very  spot  represented  by  the  seers,  and  by  the 
planting  of  orchards  there. 

"  To  see  a  spark  of  fire  fall  upon  one's  arm  or  breast, 
is  a  forerunner  of  a  dead  child  to  be  seen  in  the  arms 
of  those  persons';  of  which  there  are  several  fresh  in- 
stances. 

"  To  see  a  seat  empty  at  the  time  of  one's  sitting  in 
it,  is  a  presage  of  that  person's  death  soon  after. 

"  When  a  novice,  or  one  that  has  lately  obtained 
vhe  second  sight,  sees  a  vision  in  the  night-time  with- 
out doors,  and  he  be  near  a  fire,  he  presently  faUs  into 
a  swoon. 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  299 

**  Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a  crowd  of 
people,  having  a  corpse  which  they  carry  along  with 
them ;  and  after  such  \nsions  the  seers  come  in  sweat- 
ing, and  describe  the  people  that  appeared  ;  if  there 
be  any  of  their  acquaintance  among  'em,  they  give  an 
account  of  their  names,  as  also  of  the  bearers,  but  they 
know  nothing  concerning  the  corpse. 

"All  those  who  have  the  second-sight  do  not  always 
see  these  visions  at  once,  though  they  be  together  at 
the  time.  But  if  one  who  has  this  faculty,  designedly 
touch  his  fellow-seer  at  the  instant  of  a.  vision's  appear- 
ing, then  the  second  sees  it  as  well  as  the  first ;  and  this 
is  sometimes  discerned  by  those  that  are  near  them  on 
Buch  occasions." — Martix's  Description  of  the  Western 
Islands,  1716,  8vo,  p.  300,  et  seq. 

To  these  particulars  innumerable  examples  might  be 
added,  all  attested  by  grave  and  credible  authors.  But 
in  despite  of  evidence  which  neither  Bacon,  Boyle,  nor 
Johnson  were  able  to  resist,  the  Taisch,  with  all  its 
visionar}'  properties,  seems  to  be  now  universally  aban- 
doned to  the  use  of  poetry.  The  exquisitely  beauti- 
ful poem  of  Lochiel  will  at  once  recur  to  the  recollec- 
tion of  every  reader. 


Note   B. 

Mr/  sire*s  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 
Of  Ferragus,  or  Ascabart. — P.  51. 

These  two  sons  of  Anak  flourished  in  romantic  fable. 
The  first  is  well  known  to  the  admirers  of  Ariosto,  by 
the  name  of  Ferrau.  He  was  an  antagonist  of  Orlando, 


300  APPENDIX   TO   THE 

and  was  at  length  slain  by  him  in  single  combat 
There  is  a  romance  in  the  Auchinleck  MS.,  in  which 
Ferragus  is  thus  described : — 

"  On  a  day  come  tiding 
Unto  Charls  the  King, 

Al  of  a  doughti  knight 
Was  comen  to  Navers, 
Stout  he  was  and  fers, 

Vernagu  he  hight. 
Of  Babiloun  the  soudan 
Thider  him  sende  gan, 

With  King  Charls  to  fight. 
So  hard  he  was  to-fond  i 
That  no  dint  of  brond 

No  greued  him,  aplight. 
He  hadde  twenti  men  strengthe 
And  forti  fet  of  lengthe, 

Thilke  painim  hede,2 
And  four  feet  in  the  face, 
Y-meten3  in  the  place, 

And  fifteen  in  brede.^ 
His  nose  was  a  fot  and  more ; 
His  brow,  as  bristles  wore;  6 

He  that  it  seighe  it  sede. 
He  looked  lotheliche, 
And  was  swart^  as  any  piche, 

Of  him  men  might  adrede." 

Romance  of  Charlemagne,  1.  461,  484. 
Auchinleck  MS.,  fol.  265- 

Ascapait,  or  Ascabart,  makes  a  very  material  fio;ure 
in  the  History  of  Be  vis  of  Hampton,  by  whom  he  was 
conquered.    His  effigies  may  be  seen  guarding  one 

'  Found,  proved.—^  Had.—*  Meapured. — *  Breadth.— 
a  Were.— 6  Black. 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  301 

§ide  of  a  gate  at  Southampton,  while  the  other  is  oc- 
cupied by  Sir  Bevis  himself.  The  dimensions  of  A> 
cabart  were  little  inferior  to  those  of  Ferragus,  if  th« 
following  description  be  correct : — 

"  They  metten  with  a  geaunt, 
With  a  lothelithe  serablaunt. 
He  was  wonderliche  strong, 
Rome  1  thretti  fote  long. 
His  herd  was  bot  gret  and  rowe ;  3 
A  space  of  a  fot  betweene  is^  browe? 
His  clob  was,  to  yeue-*  a  strok, 
A  lite  bodi  of  an  oak.5 

"  Beues  hadde  of  him  wonder  gret. 
And  askede  him  what  a  het,8 
And  yaf  "  men  of  his  coutr6 
Were  ase  raeche^  a?e  was  he. 
'  Me  name,'  a  sede,9  *  is  Ascopard, 
Graci  me  sent  hiderward, 
For  to  bring  this  quene  ayen. 
And  the  Beues  lier  of-slen.io 
Icham  Graci  is^i  champioun. 
And  was  i-driue  ont  of  me  12  tonn 
Al  for  that  ich  was  so  lite.13 
Eueri  man  me  wolde  smite, 
Ich  was  so  lite  and  so  merugh,i* 
Eueri  man  me  clepede  dwerugh,^* 
And  now  icham  in  this  londe, 
I  wax  mori6  ich  understonde, 
And  stranger  than  other  tene;  '7 
And  that  schel  on  us  be  sene.'  '* 

Sir  Beds  of  Hampton,  1.  2512. 
Auchinleck  MS.,  fol.  189. 

'  Fully.— 2  Rongh.—  SRis.— 4  Give.— 5  The  stem  of  a  wtti* 
oak  tree'.— 8  He  hight,  was  called.— 7  If.— «  Great.— 9  He  said 
_io  Slay.— 11  His.— 12  My.— 13  Little.—"  Lean.— is  Dwar^.- 
W  Greater,  taller. — i'  Ten. 


302  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

Note  C. 
In  Holy-Rood  a  Knight  he  sleic. — P.  75. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  occurrence  in 
the  Court  of  Scotland ;  nay,  the  presence  of  the  Sover- 
eign himself  scarcely  restrained  the  ferocious  and  in- 
veterate feuds  which  were  the  perpetual  source  of 
bloodshed  among  the  Scottish  nobility.  The  following 
instance  of  the  murder  of  Sir  William  Stuart  of  Ochil- 
tree, (tailed  The  Blood//,  by  the  celebrated  Francis, 
Earl  of  Bothwell,  may  be  produced  among  many ;  but, 
as  the  offence  given  in  the  royal  court  will  hardly  bear 
a  vernacular  translation,  I  shall  leave  the  story  in  John- 
stone's Latin,  referring  for  further  particulars  to  the 
naked  simplicity  of  Birrel's  Diary,  30th  July,  1588. 

'■'■Mora  hnprobi  hominis  non  tarn  ipsa  immerita,  quam 
pessimo  exemplo  in  publicum,  foede  perpelrata.  Guliel- 
mus  Stuartus  Alkillrim,  Arani  frater,  naturd  ac  mo- 
rihus,  cuj'us  soijyius  memini,  vulgo  propter  ahem  sangui- 
nis sanguinarius  dictus,  a  Bothvelio,  in  Sanctce  Crucis 
RegiCi,  exardescente  ira,  mendacii  prohro  lacessitus,  oh- 
sccenum  oscidum  Uherius  retorquehat ;  Bothvellus  hanc 
contumeliam  tacitus  tulit,  sed  ingentum  irarum  molem 
animo  concepit.  Utrinque  postridie  Edinburgi  conven- 
tum,  todidem  numero  comitibus  armatis,  prcesidii  causa^ 
et  acriter  pugnatum  est ;  cceteris  amicis  et  clientibus 
metu  torpeutibus,  aut  vi  absterritis,  ipse  Stuartus  fort is' 
simc  dimicat ;  tandem  excusso  gladio  d  Bofhrelio,  Scy- 
ihicCi  ferllate  transfodilur,  sine  cujusquain  misericordia 
habuit  itaque  quern  dcbuil  exitum.  Dignus  erat  Stuartm 
qui  pateretur  ;  Bothvellus  qui  faceret.     Vidgus  sanguv 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  303 

lem  sanf/uine  prcedicabif,  et  liorum  cruore  innocuorum 
nanibus  egregic  parentatwn." — .Johxstoxi  Historia 
Rerwn  Britannicarum,  ab  anno  1572  ad  annum  1628. 
Amstelodami,  1655,  fol.  p.  135. 


Note   D. 

Did,  self-unscabharded,  foreshow 
The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe. — P.  80. 

The  ancient  warriors,  whose  hope  and  confidence 
rested  chiefly  in  their  blades,  were  accustomed  to  de- 
duce omens  from  them,  especially  from  such  as  were 
supposed  to  have  been  fabricated  by  enchanted  skill,  of 
which  we  have  various  instances  in  the  romances  and 
lejrends  of  the  time.  The  wonderful  sword  Skofxung, 
wielded  by  the  celebrated  Hrolf  Kraka,  was  of  this 
description.  It  was  deposited  in  the  tomb  of  the  mon- 
arch at  his  death,  and  taken  from  thence  by  Skeggo, 
a  celebrated  pirate,  who  bestowed  it  upon  his  son-in- 
law,  Kormak,  with  the  following  curious  directions: 
"  'The  manner  of  using  it  will  appear  strange  to  you. 
A  small  bag  is  attached  to  it,  which  take  heed  not  to 
violate.  Let  not  the  rays  of  the  sun  touch  the  upper 
part  of  the  handle,  nor  unsheathe  it,  unless  thou  art 
ready  for  battle.  But  when  thou  comest  to  the  place 
of  fight,  go  aside  from  the  rest,  grasp  and  extend  the 
eword,  and  breathe  upon  it.  Then  a  small  worm  will 
creep  out  of  the  handle  ;  lower  the  handle,  that  he 
may  more  easily  return  into  it.'  Kormak,  after  havmg 
received  the  sword  returned  home  to  his  mother.  He 
showed  the  sword,  and  attempted  to  draw  it,  as  unneces- 


304  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

sarily  as  ineffectually,  for  he  could  not  pluck,  it  out  of 
the  sheatli.  His  mother,  Dalla,  exclaimed,  'Do  not 
despise  the  counsel  given  to  thee,  my  son.*  Kormak, 
however,  repeating  his  efforts,  pressed  down  the  handle 
with  his  feet,  and  tore  off  the  bag,  when  Skofhung 
emitted  a  hollow  groan ;  but  still  he  could  not  unsheathe 
the  sword.  Kormak  then  went  out  with  Bessus,  whom 
he  had  challenged  to  fight  with  him,  and  drew  apart  at 
the  place  of  combat.  He  sat  down  upon  the  ground, 
and  ungirdiug  the  sword,  which  he  bore  above  his  vest- 
ments, did  not  remember  to  shield  the  hilt  from  the 
rays  of  the  sun.  In  vain  he  endeavoured  to  draw  it, 
till  he  placed  his  foot  against  the  hilt ;  then  the  worm 
issued  from  it.  But  Kormak  did  not  rightly  handle 
the  weapon,  in  consequence  whereof  good  fortune  de- 
serted it.  As  he  unsheathed  Skofnung,  it  emitted  a 
hollow  murmur." — BarthoUni  de  Causis  Contemptce  a 
Danis  adhuc  Gentilibus  Mortis,  Libri  Tres.  Hofniodf 
1689,  4to,  p.  574. 

To  the  history  of  this  sentient  and  prescient  Aveapon, 
I  beg  leave  to  add,  from  memory,  the  following  legend 
for  which  I  cannot  produce  any  better  authority.  A 
young  nobleman,  of  high  hopes  and  fortime,  chanced 
to  lose  his  way  in  the  town  which  he  inhabited,  the 
capital,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  a  German  province.  He 
had  accidentally  involved  himself  among  the  narrow 
and  winding  streets  of  a  suburb,  inhabited  by  the 
lowest  order  of  the  people,  and  an  approaching  thunder- 
shower  determmed  him  to  ask  a  short  refuge  in  the 
most  decent  habitation  that  was  near  him.  He  knocked 
at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  a  tall  man,  of  a  grisly 
and  ferocious  aspect,  and  sordid  dress.  The  strangei 
was  readily  ushered  to  a  chamber,  where  swords, 


LADY    OF    THL    LAKE.  dUO 

acourges,  and  machines,  wliich  seemed  to  be  imple- 
ments of  torture,  were  suspended  on  the  wall.  One 
of  these  sword3  dropped  from  its  scabbard,  as  the 
nobleman,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  crossed  the 
threshold.  His  host  immediately  stared  at  him  with 
Sfuch  a  marked  expression,  that  the  young  man  could 
not  help  demanding  his  name  and  business,  and  the 
meaning  of  his  looking  at  him  so  fixedly.  "  I  am,** 
answered  the  man,  "  the  public  executioner  of  this 
city ;  and  the  incident  you  have  observed  is  a  sure 
augur}-  that  I  shall,  in  discharge  of  my  dut^',  one  day 
cut  off  your  head  with  the  weapon  which  has  just  now 
spontaneously  unsheathed  itself"  The  nobleman  lost 
no  time  in  leaving  his  place  of  refuge  ;  but,  engaging 
in  some  of  the  plots  of  the  period,  was  shortly  after  de- 
capitated by  that  verj-  man  and  instrument 

Lord  Lovat  is  said,  by  the  author  of  the  Letters  from 
Scotland,  to  have  affirmed,  that  a  number  of  sworda 
that  hung  up  in  the  hall  of  the  mansion-house,  leaped 
of  themselves  out  of  the  scabbard  at  the  instant  he 
was  bom.  The  stor}'  passed  current  among  his  clan, 
but,  like  that  of  the  stor\'  I  have  just  quoted,  proved 
an  unfortunate  omen. — Letters  from  Scotland,  voL  iL 
p.  214. 

Note  E. 

The  best  of  Loch-Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side. — P.  86. 

The  Lennox,  as  the  district  is  called,  which  encircles 
die  lower  extremitj*  of  Loch  LomonJ,  was  peculiarly 
exposed  to  the  incursions  of  the  mountaineers,  who  in- 
habited the  inaccessible  fastnesses  at  the  upper  end  of 
20 


306  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

the  lake,  and  the  neighbouring  distnct  of  Loch  Katrina 
These  were  often  marked  by  circumstances  of  great 
ferocity,  of  which  the  noted  conflict  of  Glen-fruin  is  a 
celebi'ated  instance.  This  was  a  clan-battle,  in  which 
the  Macgregors,  headed  by  Allaster  Macgregor,  chief 
of  the  clan,  encountered  the  sept  of  Colquhouns,  com- 
manded by  Sir  Himiphrey  Colquhoun  of  Luss.  It  is 
on  all  hands  allowed  that  the  action  was  desperately 
fought,  and  that  the  Colquhouns  were  defeated  with 
great  slaughter,  leaving  two  hundred  of  their  name 
dead  upon  the  field.  But  popular  tradition  has  added 
other  horrors  to  the  tale.  It  is  said,  that  Sir  Humphrey 
Colquhoun,  who  was  on  horseback,  escaped  to  the 
castle  of  Benechra,  or  Banochar,  and  was  next  day 
dragged  out  and  murdered  by  the  victorious  Mac- 
gregors  in  cold  blood.  Buchanan  of  Auchmar,  however, 
speaks  of  his  slaughter  as  a  subsequent  event,  and  as 
perpetrated  by  the  Mactarlanes.  Again,  it  is  reported 
that  the  Macgregors  murdered  a  number  of  youths, 
whom  report  of  the  intended  battle  had  brought  to  be 
spectators,  and  Avhom  the  Colquhouns,  anxious  for  their 
safety,  had  shut  up  in  a  barn  to  be  out  of  danger.  One 
account  of  the  Macgregors  denies  tliis  circumstance 
entirely  ;  another  ascribes  it  to  the  savage  and  blood- 
thirsty disposition  of  a  single  individual,  the  bastard 
brother  of  the  Laird  of  Macgregor,  who  amused  him- 
pelf  with  this  second  massacre  of  the  innoceiits,  in  ex- 
press disobedience  to  the  chief,  by  whom  he  was  left 
their  guardian  during  the  pursuit  of  the  Colquhouns. 
It  is  added,  that  Macgregor  bitterly  lamented  tliis  atro- 
cious action,  and  prophesied  the  ruin  which  it  must 
bring  upon  their  ancient  clan.  The  following  account 
«f  the  coutUct,  which  is  indeed  di'awn  up  by  a  friend 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  307 

of  the  Clan-Gregor,  is  altogether  silent  on  the  murder 
of  the  youths.  "  In  the  spring  of  the  year  1 602,  there 
happened  great  dissensions  and  troubles  between  the 
laird  of  Luss,  chief  of  the  Colquhouns,  and  Alexander, 
laird  of  Macgregor.  The  original  of  these  quarrels 
proceeded  trom  injuries  and  provocations  mutually 
given  and  received,  not  long  before,  ^lacgregor,  how- 
ever, wanting  to  have  them  ended  in  friendly  cou- 
fercnL-es,  marched  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  of  his 
clan  to  Leven,  which  borders  on  Luss,  his  country', 
with  a  view  of  settling  matters  by  the  mediation  of 
friends ;  but  Luss  had  no  such  intentions,  and  projected 
his  measures  with  a  different  view ;  for  he  privately 
drew  together  a  body  of  300  horse  and  500  foot,  com- 
posed partly  of  his  own  clan  and  their  followei-s,  and 
partly  of  tlie  Buchanans,  his  neighbours,  and  resolved 
to  cut  off  Macgregor  and  his  party  to  a  man,  in  case 
the  issue  of  the  conference  <lid  not  answer  his  inclina- 
tion. But  matters  fell  otherwise  than  he  expected; 
and  though  ^Macgregor  had  previous  information  of  his 
insidious  design,  yet  dissembling  his  resentment,  he 
kept  the  appointment,  and  parted  good  friends  in  ap- 
pearance. 

"  No  sooner  was  he  gone,  than  Luss,  thinking  to  sur- 
prise him  and  hi?  party  in  full  security,  and  without 
any  dread  or  apprehension  of  his  treacherj-,  followed 
with  all  speed,  and  came  up  with  him  at  a  j>late  called 
Blenfroou.  Macgregor,  upon  the  alarm,  livided  his 
men  into  two  parties,  the  greatest  part  whereof  he  com- 
manded hlmseff,  and  the  other  he  committed  to  the 
care  of  his  brother  John,  who,  by  his  onlers,  led  them 
about  another  way,  and  attacked  the  Colquhouns  in 
flank.     Here  it  was  fcught  with  great  bravery  on  both 


808  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

rides  for  a  considerable  time ;  and,  notwlthstandiiig  the 
V£ist  disproportion  of  numbers,  Macgregor,  in  the  end, 
obtained  an  absolute  victory.  So  great  was  the  rout, 
that  200  of  the  Colquhouns  were  left  dead  upon  the 
spot,  most  of  the  leading  men  were  killed,  and  a  mul- 
titude of  prisoners  taken.  But  what  seemed  most  sur- 
prising and  incredible  in  this  defeat,  was,  that  none  of 
the  Macgregors  were  missing,  except  John,  the  laird's 
brother,  and  one  common  fellow,  though  indeed  many 
of  them  were  wounded." — Professor  Ross's  HUiiory  of 
the  Family  of  Sutherland^  1631. 

The  consequences  of  the  battle  of  Glen-fruin  were 
very  calamitous  to  the  family  of  Macgregor,  who  had 
already  been  considered  as  an  unruly  clan.  The 
widows  of  the  slain  Colquhouns,  sixty,  it  is  said,  ii* 
number,  appeared  in  doleful  procession  before  the 
king  at  Stirling,  each  riding  upon  a  white  palfrey, 
and  bearing  in  her  hand  the  bloody  shirt  of  her  hus- 
band displayed  upon  a  pike.  James  VI.  was  so  much 
moved  by  the  complaints  of  this  "  choir  of  mourning 
dames,"  that  he  let  loose  his  vengeance  against  the 
Macgregors,  without  either  bounds  or  moderation. 
The  very  name  of  the  clan  was  proscribed,  and  those 
by  whom  it  had  been  borne  were  given  up  to  sword 
and  fire,  and  absolutely  hunted  down  by  bloodhounds 
like  wild  beasts.  Argyle  and  the  Campbells,  on  the 
one  hand;  Montrose,  with  the  Grahames  and  Buchan- 
ans, on  tha  other,  are  said  to  have  been  the  chief 
instruments  in  suppressing  this  devoted  clan.  The 
Laird  of  Macgregor  surrendered  +o  the  former,  on 
condition  that  he  would  take  him  out  of  Scottish 
ground.  But,  to  use  Birrel's  exj)ression,  he  kept  "  a 
Highlandman's  promise ;  "  and,  although  he  fulfilled 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  3U9 

his  word  to  the  letter,  by  carrying  him  as  far  as  Ber- 
wick, he  afterwards  brought  him  back  to  Edinburgh, 
where  he  was  executed  with  eighteen  of  his  clan. — 
Birrel's  Diary,  2d  Oct.  1603.  The  clan  Gregor 
being  thus  driven  to  utter  despair,  seem  to  have  re- 
nounced the  laws  from  the  benefit  of  which  they  were 
excluded,  and  their  depredations  produced  new  acts 
of  council,  confirming  the  severity  of  their  proscrip- 
tion, which  had  only  the  effect  of  rendering  them  still 
more  united  and  desperate.  It  is  a  most  extraordi- 
nary proof  of  the  ardent  and  invincible  spirit  of  clan- 
ship, that,  notwithstanding  the  repeated  proscriptions 
providently  ordained  by  the  legislature,  "for  the 
timeous  preventing  the  disorders  and  oppression  that 
may  fall  out  by  the  said  name  and  clan  of  Macgregors, 
and  their  followers,"  they  were  in  1715  and  1745,  a 
potent  clan,  and  continue  to  subsist  as  a  distinct  and 
numerous  race. 

Note  F. 

And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glancedy   like  a  meteor 
round.—?.  110. 

AVTien  a  chieftain  designed  to  summon  his  clan, 
upon  any  sudden  or  important  emergency,  he  slew  a 
goat,  and  making  across  of  any  light  wood,  seared  its 
extremities  in  the  fire,  and  extinguished  them  in  the 
blood  of  the  animal.  This  was  called  the  Fiery  Cross, 
aho  Crean  Tanyh,  or  the  Cross  of  Shame,  because 
disobedience  to  what  the  symbol  implied,  inferred  in- 
^my.  It  was  delivered  to  a  swift  and  trusty  mes- 
senger, who  ran  full  speed  with  it  to  the  next  hamlet, 


310  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

where  be  presented  it  to  the  principal  person,  with  a 
single  word,  implying  the  place  of  rendezvous.  He 
who  received  the  symbol  was  bound  to  send  it  forward, 
with  equal  dispatch,  to  the  next  village;  and  thus  it 
passed  with  incredible  celerity  through  all  the  district 
which  owed  allegiance  to  the  chief,  and  also  among 
his  allies  and  neighbours,  if  the  danger  was  common 
to  them.  At  sight  of  the  Fiery  Cross,  every  man, 
from  sixteen  years  old  to  sixty,  capable  of  bearing 
arms,  was  obliged  instantly  to  repair,  in  his  best  arms 
and  accoutrements,  to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  He 
who  failed  to  appear  suffered  the  extremities  of  fire  \ 
and  sword,  which  were  emblematically  denounced  to 
the  disobedient  by  the  bloody  and  burnt  marks  upon 
this  warlike  signal.  During  the  civil  war  of  1  745-6, 
the  Fiery  Cross  often  made  its  circuit;  and  upon  one 
occasion  it  passed  through  the  whole  district  of  Bread- 
albane,  a  tract  of  thirty-two  miles,  in  three  hours. 
The  late  Alexander  Stewart,  Esq.,  of  Invernahyle, 
described  to  me  his  having  sent  round  the  Fiery  Cross 
through  the  district  of  Appine,  during  the  same  com- 
motion. The  coast  was  threatened  by  a  descent  from 
two  English  frigates,  and  the  flower  of  the  young  men 
were  with  the  army  of  Prince  Charles  Edward,  then 
in  England ;  yet  the  summons  was  so  effectual,  that 
even  old  age  and  childhood  obeyed  it;  and  a  force 
was  collected  in  a  few  hours,  so  numerous  and  so  en- 
thusiastic, that  all  attempt  at  the  intended  diversion 
upon  the  country  of  the  absent  warriors  was  in  pru- 
dence abandoned,  as  desperate. 

This  practice,  like  some  others,  is  common  to  the 
Highlanders  with  the  ancient  Scandinavians,  as  will 
appear  by  the  following  extract  from  Olaus  Magnus  :^ 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  311 

•*  "NVTien  the  enemy  is  upon  the  sea-coast,  or  within 
the  limits  of  northern  kingdomes,  then  presently,  by 
the  command  of  the  principal  govemours,  with  the 
counsel  and  consent  of  the  old  soldiers,  who  are  nota- 
bly skilled  in  such  hke  business,  a  staff  of  three  hands 
len^h,  in  the  common  sight  of  them  aU,  is  carried,  by 
the  speedy  running  of  some  active  young  man,  unto 
that  village  or  citj',  with  this  command, — that  on  the 
8.  4.  or  8.  day,  one,  two,  or  three,  or  else  ever}-  man  in 
peirticular,  from  15  years  old,  shall  come  ^vith  his  arms, 
and  expenses  for  ten  or  twenty  days,  upon  pain  that 
his  or  their  houses  shall  be  burnt,  (which  is  intimated 
by  the  burning  of  the  staff,)  or  else  the  master  to  be 
hanged,  (which  is  signified  by  the  cord  tied  to  it,)  to 
appear  speedily  on  such  a  bank,  or  field,  or  valley,  to 
hear  the  cause  he  is  called,  and  to  hear  orders  from 
the  said  provincial  govemours  what  he  shall  do. 
Wherefore  that  messenger,  swifter  than  any  post  or 
waggon,  haring  done  his  conmiission,  comes  slowly 
back  again,  bringing  a  token  with  him  that  he  hath 
done  zdl  legally ;  and  ever}-  moment  one  or  another 
runs  to  everj'  village,  and  tells  those  places  what  they 

must  do." "  The  messengers,  therefore,  of 

the  footmen,  that  are  to  give  warning  to  the  people  to 
meet  for  the  battail,  run  fiercely  and  swiftly ;  for  no 
snow,  no  rain,  nor  heat  can  stop  them,  nor  night  hold 
them ;  but  they  will  soon  run  the  race  they  undertake. 
The  first  messenger  tells  it  to  the  next  village,  and  that 
to  the  next ;  and  so  the  hubbub  runs  all  over  till  ther 
all  know  it  in  that  stift  or  territory,  where,  when  and 
wherefore  they  must  meet" — Olaus  Magnus's  Els' 
iory  of  the  Goths,  englished  by  J.  S.  Lond.  1658,  book 
IV.  chap.  3,  4. 


812  APPENDIX   TO    THE 

Note  G. 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face. — P.  112. 

The  state  of  religion  in  the  middle  ages  afforded 
considerable  facilities  for  those  whose  mode  of  life  ex- 
cluded them  from  regular  worship,  to  secure,  never- 
theless, the  ghostly  assistance  of  confessors,  perfectly 
willing  to  adapt  the  nature  of  their  doctrine  to  the 
necessities  and  peculiar  circumstances  of  their  flock. 
Robin  Hood,  it  is  well  known,  had  his  celebrated 
domestic  chaplain,  Friar  Tuck.  And  that  same  curtal 
friar  was  probably  matched  in  manners  and  appear- 
ance by  the  ghostly  fathers  of  the  Tynedale  robbers, 
who  are  thus  described  in  an  exconmiunication  ful- 
minated against  their  patrons  by  Richard  Fox,  Bishop 
of  Durham,  tempore  Henrici,  VIII.  "  We  have  further 
understood,  that  there  are  many  chaplains  in  the  said 
territories  of  Tynedale  and  Redesdale,  who  are  pubUc 
and  open  maintainers  of  concubinage,  irregular,  sus- 
pended, excommunicated,  and  interdicted  persons,  and 
withal  so  utterly  ignorant  of  letters,  that  it  has  been 
found  by  those  who  objected  this  to  them,  that  there 
were  some  who,  having  celebrated  mass  for  ten  years, 
were  still  unable  to  read  the  sacramental  service.  We 
have  also  understood  there  are  persons  among  them 
who,  although  not  ordained,  do  take  upon  them  the 
>fiic:es  of  priesthood ;  and  in  contempt  of  God,  cele- 
brate the  divine  and  sacred  rites,  and  administer  the 
sacraments,  not  only  in  sacred  and  dedicated  places, 
but  in  those  which  are  profane  and  interdicted,  and 
most  wretchedly  ruinous;  they  themselves  being  at 


LADl    OF   THE    LAKE.  313 

tired  in  ragged,  torn,  and  most  filthy  vestments,  alto 
gether  unfit  to  be  used  in  di^-ine,  or  even  in  temporal 
offices.  The  which  said  chaplains  do  administer  sacra- 
ments and  sacramental  rites  to  the  atbresaid  manifest 
and  infamous  thieves,  robbers,  depredators,  receivers 
of  stolen  goo<ls,  and  plunderers,  and  that  without 
restitution,  or  intention  to  restore,  as  evinced  by  the 
act ;  and  do  also  openly  admit  them  to  the  rites  of 
ecclesiastical  sepulchre,  without  exacting  security  for 
restitution,  although  they  are  prohibited  from  doing  so 
by  the  sacred  canons,  as  well  as  by  the  institutes  of 
the  saints  and  fathers.  All  which  infers  the  heavy 
peril  of  their  own  souls,  and  is  a  pernicious  example 
to  the  other  believers  in  Christ,  as  well  as  no  slight, 
but  an  aggravated  injur}*,  to  the  numbers  despoiled 
and  plundered  of  their  goods,  gear,  herds,  and  chat- 
tels." 1 

To  this  lively  and  picturesque  description  of  the 
confessors  and  churchmen  of  predatory  tribes,  there 
may  be  added  some  curious  particulars  respecting  the 
priests  attached  to  the  several  septs  of  native  Irish, 
during  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  These  friars 
had  indeed  to  plead  that  the  incursions,  which  they 
not  only  pardoned,  but  even  encouraged,  were  made 
upon  those  hostile  to  them,  as  well  in  rehgion  as  from 
national  antipathy ;  but  by  Protestant  writers  they  are 
uniformly  Eilleged  to  be  the  chief  instruments  of  Irish 
insurrection,   the   very   well-spring   of  all    rebellion 

1  The  Monition  against  the  Eobbers  of  Tynedale  and 
Bedesdale,  with  which  I  was  favoured  by  my  friend,  Air.  Sur- 
tees  of  Mainsforth,  may  be  found  in  the  original  Latin,  in  the 
Appendix  to  the  Iiitroductiin  to  the  Border  Minstrelsy  No 
VII.,  vol  i.  p.  274. 


814  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

towards  the  English  government.  LIthgow,  the  Suoir 
tish  traveller,  declares  the  Irish  wood-kerne,  or  pred- 
atory tribes,  to  be  but  the  hounds  of  their  hunting- 
priests,  who  directed  their  incursions  by  their  pleas- 
ure, partly  for  sustenance,  partly  to  gratify  animosity, 
partly  to  fomen-t  general  division,  and  always  for  the 
better  security  and  easier  domination  of  the  friars.l 
Derrick,  the  liveliness  and  minuteness  of  whose  de- 
scriptions may  frequently  apologize  for  his  doggerel 
verses,  after  describing  an  Irish  feast,  and  the  encour^ 
agement  given,  by  the  songs  of  the  bards,  to  its  ter- 
mination in  an  incursion  upon  the  parts  of  the  country 
more  immediately  under  the  dominion  of  the  English, 
records  the  no  less  powerful  arguments  used  by  the 
friar  to  excite  their  animosity : — 

*'  And  more  t'augment  the  flame, 

and  rancour  of  their  harte, 
The  frier,  of  his  counsells  vile, 

to  rebelles  doth  imparte. 
Affirming  that  it  is 

an  almose  deede  to  God, 
To  make  the  English  subjects  taste 

the  Irish  rebells'  rodde. 
To  spoile,  to  kill,  to  bume, 

this  frier's  counsell  is ; 
And  for  the  doing  of  the  same, 

he  warrantes  heavenlie  blisse. 
He  tells  a  holie  tale ; 

the  white  he  toumes  to  blacke ; 
And  through  the  pardous  in  his  male, 

He  workes  a  knavishe  knacke." 

The  wreckful  invasion  of  a  part  of  the  English  pal« 
is  then  described  with  some  spirit;  the  burning  of 

1  Lithgow's  Travels,  first  edition,  p.  431. 


LADT    OF    THE    LAKE.  315 

houses,  driving  off  cattle,  and  all  pertaining  to  such 
predator}'  inroads,  are  illustrated  by  a  rude  cut.  The 
defeat  of  the  Irish  by  a  party  of  English  soldiers  from 
the  next  garrison,  is  then  commemorated,  and  in  like 
manner  adorned  with  an  engraving,  in  which  the  friar 
IS  exhibited  mourning  over  the  slain  chieftain  ;  or,  as 
the  rubric  expresses  it, 

"The  frier  then,  that  treacherous  knave;  with  ough  ougn- 

hone  lament, 
To  see  his  cousin  Devnll's-son  to  have  so  foul  event." 

The  matter  is  handled  at  great  length  in  the  text, 
of  which  the  following  verses  are  more  than  sufficient 
sample ; — 

"  The  frier  seyng  this, 

lamentes  that  lucklesse  parte, 
And  curseth  to  the  pitte  of  hell 

the  death  man's  sturdie  hart«: 
Yet  for  to  quight  them  with 

the  frier  taketh  paine, 
For  all  the  synnes  that  ere  he  did 

remission  to  obtiiine. 
And  therefore  serves  bis  booke, 

the  candell  and  the  bell; 
But  thinke  you  that  such  apishe  toies 

bring  damned  souls  from  hell  ? 
It  'longs  not  to  my  parte 

infemall  things  to  kuowe; 
But  I  beleve  till  later  daie, 

thei  rise  not  from  belowe. 
Yet  hope  that  friers  give 

to  this  rebellions  rout, 
If  that  their  souls  should  chaimce  in  hell 

to  bring  them  quicklie  out, 
Doeth  make  them  lead  suche  lives, 

as  neither  God  nor  man. 


316  APPEN'DIX    TO    THE 

Without  revenue  for  their  desartes, 

permitte  or  suffer  can. 
Thus  friers  are  the  cause, 

the  fountain,  and  the  spring, 
Of  hurleburle.'^  in  this  lande, 

of  eche  unhappie  thing. 
Thei  cause  them  to  rebell 

against  their  soveraigne  queue. 
And  through  rebellion  often  tymes, 

their  lives  doe  vanishe  clene. 
So  as  by  friers  meanes, 

in  whom  all  follie  swimme, 
The  Irishe  kame  doe  often  lose 

the  life,  with  hedde  and  limme."  ^ 

As  the  Irisli  tribes,  and  those  of  the  Scottish  High- 
landers, are  much  more  intimately  allied,  by  language, 
manners,  dress,  and  customs,  than  the  antiquaries  of 
either  country  have  been  -mlHng  to  admit,  I  flatter 
myself  I  have  here  produced  a  strong  warrant  for  the 
character  sketched  in  the  text.  The  following  pic- 
ture, though  of  a  different  kind,  serves  to  establish  the 
existence  of  ascetic  religionists,  to  a  comparatively  late 
period,  in  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles.  There 
is  a  great  deal  of  simplicity  in  the  description,  for 
which,  as  for  much  similar  information,  I  am  obliged  to 
Dr.  John  Martin,  who  visited  the  Hebrides  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  Sir  Robert  Sibbald,  a  Scottish  antiquarian 
of  eminence,  and  early  in  the  eighteenth  century 
published  a  description  of  them,  which  procured  him 

1  This  curious  picture  of  Ireland  was  inserted  by  the 
author  in  the  republication  of  Somers's  Tracts,  vol.  i.,  iu 
which  the  plates  have  been  also  inserted,  from  the  only  im- 
pressions known  to  exist,  belonging  to  the  copy  in  the  Advo 
v'Ates'  Library.     See  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i.  pp.  59 1,  594. 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  317 

admission  into  the  Royal  Society.  He  died  in  Londot 
about  1719.  His  work  is  a  strange  mixture  of  learn- 
ing, observation,  and  gross  credulity. 

"  I  remember,"  says  this  author,  "  I  liave  seen  an 
old  lay-capuchin  here,  (in  the  island  of  Ben])ecula,) 
called  in  their  language  Bi-ahir-bocht^  that  is.  Poor 
Brother ;  which  is  literally  true ;  for  he  answers  thii 
character,  have  nothing  but  what  is  given  him;  he 
holds  himself  fully  satisfied  with  food  and  rayment, 
and  lives  in  as  great  simplicity  as  any  of  his  order ; 
his  diet  is  verj'  mean,  and  he  drinks  only  fair  water; 
his  habit  is  no  less  mortifying  than  that  of  his  brethren 
elsewhere;  he  wears  a  short  coat,  which  comes  no 
further  than  his  middle,  with  narrow  sleeves  like  a 
waistcoat;  he  wears  a  plad  above  it,  girt  about  the 
middle,  which  reaches  to  his  knee ;  the  plad  is  fas- 
tened on  his  breast  with  a  wooden  pin,  his  neck  bare, 
and  his  feet  otten  so  too ;  he  wears  a  hat  for  ornament, 
and  the  string  about  it  is  a  bit  of  a  fisher's  line  made 
of  horse-hair.  This  plad  he  wears  instead  of  a  gown 
worn  by  those  of  his  order  in  other  countries.  I  told 
him  he  wanted  the  flaxen  girdle  that  men  of  his  order 
usually  wear ;  he  answered  me,  that  he  wore  a  leathern 
one,  wliich  was  the  same  thing  Ui)on  the  matter,  if 
he  is  spoke  to  when  at  meat,  he  answers  again ;  which 
is  contrary  to  the  custom  of  his  order.  This  poor 
man  frequently  diverts  himself  with  anghng  of  trouts ; 
he  lies  upon  straw,  and  has  no  bell  (as  others  have; 
to  call  him  to  his  devotions,  but  only  his  conscience, 
as  he  told  me." — Martix's  Description  of  the  West- 
em  Highlands,  p.  82. 


318  APPENDIX   TO    THE 


Note  H. 

iSounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast 

Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 

Along  Benharrow's  shingly  side, 

Where  mortal  horseman  ne'er  might  ride. — P.  120. 

A  presage  of  the  kind  alluded  to  in  the  text,  is 
Btill  believed  to  announce  death  to  the  ancient  High- 
land family  of  M'Lean  of  Lochbuy.  The  spirit  of 
an  ancestor  slain  in  battle  is  heard  to  gallop  along  a 
stony  bank,  and  then  to  ride  thrice  around  the  family 
residence,  ringing  his  fairy  bridle,  and  thus  intimating 
the  approaching  calamit}\  How  easily  the  eye  as 
well  as  the  ear  may  be  deceived  upon  such  occasions, 
is  evident  from  the  stories  of  armies  in  the  air,  and 
other  spectral  phenomena,  with  which  history  abounds. 
Such  an  apparition  is  said  to  have  been  witnessed  upon 
the  side  of  Southfell  Mountain,  between  Penrith  and 
Keswick,  upon  the  23d  June,  1744,  by  two  persons, 
William  Lancaster  of  BlakehilJs,  and  Daniel  Stricket 
his  servant,  whose  attestation  to  the  fact,  vn\\\  a  full 
account  of  the  apparition,  dated  the  21st  July,  1745, 
is  printed  in  Clarke's  Survey  of  the  Lakes.  The  ap- 
parition consisted  of  several  troops  of  horse  moving  in 
regular  order,  with  a  steady  rapid  motion,  making  a 
curved  sweep  around  the  fell,  and  seeming  to  the 
spectators  to  disappear  over  the  ridge  of  the  mountain. 
Many  persons  witnessed  this  phenomenon,  and  ob- 
served the  last,  or  last  but  one,  of  the  supposed  troop, 
occasionally  leave  his  rank,  and  pass  at  a  gallop  to 
the  front,  when  he   resumed  the  same  steady  pace 


LADY   OP  THE   LAKE.  819 

This  curious  appearance,  making  the  necessary  allow- 
ance for  imagination,  mav  be  perhaps  sufficiently 
accounted  for  by  optical  deception. — Survey  of  the 
Lakes,  p.  25. 

Supernatural  intimations  of  approaching  fate  are 
not,  I  believe,  confined  to  Highland  families.  Hcwel 
mentions  having  seen,  at  a  lapidary's,  in  1632,  a  mcno- 
mental  stone  prepared  for  four  persons  of  the  name 
of  Oxenham,  before  the  death  of  each  of  whom,  the 
inscription  stated  a  white  bird  to  have  appeared  and 
fluttered  around  the  bed  while  the  patient  was  in  the 
last  agony.  Familiar  Letters,  edit.  1720,  2-^7.  Glan- 
ville  mentions  one  family,  the  members  of  which 
received  this  solemn  sign  by  music,  the  sound  of  which 
floated  from  the  family  residence,  and  seemed  to  die 
in  a  neighbouring  wood;  another,  that  of  Captain 
Wood  of  Bampton,  to  whom  the  signal  was  given  by 
knocking.  But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the 
kind  occurs  in  the  MS.  Memoirs  of  Lady  Fanshaw,  so 
exemplary  for  her  conjugal  affection.  Her  husband, 
Sir  Richard,  and  she,  chanced,  during  their  abode  in 
Ireland,  to  -visit  a  friend,  the  head  of  a  sept,  who 
resided  in  his  ancient  baronial  castle,  surrounded 
with  a  moaL  At  midnight  she  was  awakened  by  a 
ghastly  and  supernatural  scream,  and,  looking  out  of 
bed,  beheld,  by  the  moonlight,  a  female  face  and  part 
of  the  form,  hovering  at  the  window.  The  distance 
from  the  ground,  as  well  as  the  circumstance  of  the 
moat,  excluded  the  possibility  that  what  she  beheld 
was  of  this  world.  The  face  was  that  of  a  young  and 
lather  handsome  woman,  but  pale ;  and  the  hair, 
which  was  reddish,  was  loose  and  dishevelled.  The 
dress,  which  Lady  Fanshaw's  terror  did  not  prevent 


520  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

her  remarking  accurately,  was  that  of  the  ancienl 
Irish.  This  apparition  continued  to  exhibit  itself  for 
Bome  time,  and  then  vanished  with  two  shrieks,  similar 
to  that  which  had  first  excited  Lady  Fanshaw's  atten- 
tiou.  In  the  morning,  with  infinite  terror,  she  com- 
municated to  her  host  what  she  had  witnessed,  and 
found  him  prepared  not  only  to  credit  but  to  account 
for  the  apparition.  "A  near  relation  of  my  family," 
said  he,  "  expired  last  night  in  this  castle.  We  dis- 
guised our  certain  expectation  of  the  event  from  you, 
lest  it  should  throw  a  cloud  over  the  cheerful  recep- 
tion which  was  due  you.  Now,  before  such  an  event 
happens  in  this  family  and  castle,  the  female  spectre 
whom  you  have  seen,  always  is  visible.  She  is  be- 
lieved to  be  the  spirit  of  a  woman  of  inferior  rank, 
whom  one  of  my  ancestors  degraded  himself  by 
marrying,  and  whom  afterwards,  to  expiate  the  dis- 
honour done  his  family,  he  caused  to  be  drowned  in 
the  castle  moat." 


Note  I. 

Tlie  Taghairm  caWd ;  by  ichich,  afar, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war. — P.  158. 

The  Highlanders,  like  all  rude  people,  had  various 
superstitious  modes  of  inquiring  into  futurity.  One 
of  the  most  noted  was  the  Taghairm,  mentioned  in 
the  text.  A  person  was  Avrapped  up  in  the  skin  of 
a  newly  slain  bullock,  and  deposited  beside  a  water- 
fall, or  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  or  in  some  other 
strange,    wild,    and    unusual    situation,    where    the 


LADY   OP   THE   LAKE.  321 

icenery  around  him  suggested  nothing  but  objects  of 
horror.  In  this  situation  he  revolved  in  his  mind  the 
question  proposed ;  and  whatever  was  impressed  upon 
him  by  his  exalted  imagination,  passed  for  the  inspi- 
ration of  the  disembodied  spirits,  who  haunt  the  deso- 
late recesses.  In  some  of  these  Hebrides,  they  attribute 
the  same  oracular  power  to  a  large  black  stone  by  the 
Bea-shore,  which  they  approached  with  certain  solemni- 
ties, and  considered  the  first  fancy  which  came  into 
their  own  minds,  after  they  did  so,  to  be  the  undoubted 
dictate  of  the  tutelar  deity  of  the  stone,  and,  as  such, 
to  be,  if  possible,  punctually  complied  with.  Martin 
has  recorded  the  following  curious  modes  of  High- 
land augury,  in  which  the  Taghairm,  and  its  effects 
upon  the  person  who  was  subjected  to  it,  may  serve  to 
illustrate  the  text : — 

"  It  was  an  ordinary  thing  among  the  over-curious 
to  consult  an  invisible  oracle,  concerning  the  fate  of 
families,  and  battles,  &c.  This  was  performed  three  dif- 
ferent ways :  the  first  was  by  a  company  of  men,  one  of 
whom,  being  detached  by  lot,  was  afterwards  carried 
to  a  river,  which  was  the  boundary  between  two  til- 
lages; four  of  the  company  laid  hold  on  him,  and, 
having  shut  his  eyes,  they  took  him  by  the  Ic^  and 
arms,  and  then,  tossing  him  to  and  again,  struck  his 
hips  with  force  against  the  bank.  One  of  them 
cried  out,  What  is  it  you  have  got  here  ?  another 
ans^vers,  a  log  of  birch-wood.  The  other  cries  again, 
Let  his  invisible  friends  appear  from  all  quartei-s,  and 
let  them  relieve  him  by  giving  an  answer  to  our 
orcsent  demands  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  a  num- 
ber of  little  creatures  came  from  the  sea,  who  answered 
the  question,  and  disappeared  suddenly.  The  man 
21 


322  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

was  then  set  at  liberty,  and  they  all  returned  home  to 
take  their  measures  according  to  the  prediction  of 
their  false  prophets ;  but  the  poor  deluded  fools  were 
abused,  for  their  answer  was  still  ambiguous.  This 
was  always  practised  in  the  night,  and  may  literally 
be  called  the  works  of  darkness. 

"  I  had  an  account  from  the  most  intelligent  and 
judicious  men  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  that  about  sixty-two 
years  ago,  the  oracle  was  thus  consulted  only  once, 
and  that  was  in  the  parish  of  Kilmartin,  on  the  east 
side,  by  a  wicked  and  mischievous  race  of  people,  who 
are  extinguished,  both  root  and  branch. 

"  The  second  way  of  consulting  the  oracle  was  by  a 
party  of  men,  who  first  retired  to  sohtary  places, 
remote  from  any  house,  and  there  they  singled  out 
one  of  their  number,  and  wrapt  him  in  a  big  cow'a 
hide,  which  they  folded  about  him ;  his  whole  body 
was  covered  with  it,  except  his  head,  and  so  left  in 
this  posture  all  night,  until  his  invisible  friends  reheved 
hun  by  giving  a  proper  answer  to  the  question  in 
hand ;  which  he  received,  as  he  fancied,  from  several 
persons  that  he  found  about  him  all  that  time.  His 
consorts  returned  to  him  at  the  break  of  day,  and 
then  he  communicated  his  news  to  them  ;  which  often 
proved  fatal  to  those  concerned  in  such  unwarrantable 
inquiries. 

"  There  was  a  third  way  of  consulting,  which  was  a 
confirmation  of  the  second  above  mentioned.  The 
same  company  who  put  the  man  into  the  hide,  tcok  a 
live  cat,  and  put  him  on  a  spit ;  one  of  the  number 
was  employed  to  turn  the  spit,  and  one  of  his  con- 
sorts inquired  of  him,  AVhat  are  you  doing?  he  an- 
swered, I  roast  this  cat,  until  his  friends  answer  the 


LADY    OF   THE    LAKE.  323 

question  ;  whlOi  must  be  the  same  that  was  proposed 
by  the  man  shut  up  in  the  hide.  And  afterwards,  a 
very  big  cat  i  comes,  attended  by  a  number  of  lesser 
cats,  desiring  to  reh'eve  the  cat  turned  upon  the  spit, 
and  then  answers  the  question.  If  this  answer  proved 
the  same  that  was  given  to  the  man  in  the  hide,  then 
it  was  taken  as  a  confirmation  of  the  other,  which,  in 
this  case,  was  believed  infallible. 

"  Mr.  Alexander  Cooper,  present  minister  of  North- 
Vist,  told  me  that  one  John  Erach,  in  the  Isle  of 
Lewis,  assured  him  it  was  his  fate  to  have  been  led  by 
his  curiosity  with  some  who  consulted  this  oracle,  and 
that  he  was  a  night  within  the  hide,  as  above  men- 
tioned :  during  which  time  he  felt  and  heard  such 
terrible  tilings,  that  he  could  not  express  them ;  the 
impression  it  made  on  him  was  such  as  could  never  go 
off,  and  he  said,  for  a  thousand  worlds  he  would  never 
again  be  concerned  in  the  like  performance,  for  this 
had  disordered  him  to  a  high  degree.  He  confessed  it 
ingenuously,  and  with  an  air  of  great  remorse,  and 
seemed  to  be  very  penitent  under  a  just  sense  of  so 
great  a  crime ;  he  declared  this  about  five  years  since, 
and  is  still  living  in  the  Le^vis  for  any  thing  I  know." 
— Description  of  the  Western  Isles,  p.  110.  See  also 
Pennant's  Scottish  Tour,  vol.  ii.  p.  361. 

1  The  reader  may  have  met  with  the  story  of  the  "  King 
of  the  Cats,"  in  Lord  Littleton's  Letters.  It  is  well  known 
In  the  Higlilands  as  a  nursery  tale. 


324  APPENDIX   TO    THE 

Note  K. 

Alice  Brand.— F.  168. 

This  little  fairy  tale  is  founded  upon  a  very  coriont 
Danish  ballad,  which  occurs  in  the  Koempe  Vu^er^  a 
collection  of  heroic  songs,  first  published  in  1591,  and 
reprinted  in  1695,  inscribed  by  Anders  Sofrensen,  the 
collector  and  editor,  to  Sophia,  Queen  of  Denmark. 
I  have  been  favoured  with  a  literal  translation  of  the 
original,  by  my  learned  friend,  Mr.  Robert  Jamieson, 
whose  deep  knowledge  of  Scandinavian  antiquities 
will,  I  hope,  one  day  be  displayed  in  illustration  of  the 
history  of  Scottish  Ballad  and  Song,  for  which  no  man 
possesses  more  ample  materials.  The  story  will  remind 
the  readers  of  the  Border  ^linstrelsy  of  the  tale  of 
Young  Tamlane.  But  this  is  only  a  solitary  and  not 
very  marked  instance  of  coincidence,  whereas  several 
of  the  other  ballads  in  the  same  collection  find  exact 
counterparts  in  the  Kcempe  Viser.  '\^^lich  may  have 
been  the  originals,  will  be  a  question  for  future  anti- 
quaries. Mr.  Jamieson,  to  secure  the  power  of  Uteral 
translation,  has  adopted  the  old  Scottish  idiom,  which 
approaches  so  near  to  that  of  the  Danish,  as  almost 
to  give  word  for  word,  as  well  as  line  for  line,  and  in- 
deed in  many  verses  the  orthography  alone  is  altered. 
As  Wester  Haf\  mentioned  in  the  first  stanzas  of  the 
ballad,  means  the  West  Sea,  in  opposition  to  the  Baltic, 
or  East  ^sa,  Mr.  Jamieson  inclines  to  be  of  opinion, 
that  the  scene  of  the  disenchantment  is  laid  in  one  of 
the  Orkney  or  Hebride  Islands.  To  each  verse  in  the 
original  is  added  a  burden,  ha\-ing  a  kind  of  meaning 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  325 

of  its  o^m,  but  not  applicable,  at  least  not  uniformly 
applicable,  to  the  sense  of  the  stanza  to  which  it  ig 
subjoined ;  this  is  vei^-  common,  both  in  Danish  and 
Scottish  sonc. 


THE  ELFIN  GRAY. 

fRASSLATED   FROM  THE  DA>aSH   K.X3EPE   VI8EB,  p.   143, 
A^O)   FIEST  PUBLISHED   H?   1591. 


Der  Hgger  en  void  i  Tester  ffaj, 

Der  agter  en  bonde  at  bygge  : 
Hand  for  er  did  baade  hog  og  hund, 

Og  agter  der  om  vinieren  at  Ugge. 

(De  VILDE  DICR  OG  DirRE>E  UDT  SKOrVSK.) 


1. 

There  liggs  a  wold  in  Wester  Haf, 
There  a  hnsbande  means  to  bigg. 

And  thither  he  carries  balth  hawk  and  hoand, 
There  meaning  the  winter  to  ligg. 

(  The  rcUd  deer  and  daes  »'  the  ttuno  ort.) 


He  taks  wi'  him  baith  hound  and  cock. 
The  langer  he  means  to  stay. 

The  wild  deer  in  the  shaws  that  are 
May  cairiy  me  the  day. 

{The  tcilddeer,  <fc) 


326  APPENDIX   TO    THE 


He's  hc-w'd  the  beech,  and  he's  fell'd  the  aik, 

Sae  has  he  the  poplar  gray ; 
And  grim  in  mood  was  the  grewsome  elf, 

That  be  sae  bald  he  may. 

4. 
He  hew'd  him  kipples,  he  hew'd  him  bawks, 

Wi'  mickle  moil  and  haste; 
Syne  speer'd  the  Elf  i'  the  knock  that  bade, 

"  Wha's  hacking  here  sae  fast  V  " 

5. 

Syne  up  and  spak  the  weiest  Elf, 

Crean'd  as  an  immert  sma: 
"  It's  here  is  come  a  Christian  man; — 

I'll  fley  him  or  he  ga." 


It's  up  syne  started  the  firsten  Elf, 

And  gloAvr'd  about  sae  grim: 
"It's  we'll  awa  to  the  husbande's  house. 

And  hald  a  court  on  him. 

7. 

"  Here  hews  he  down  baith  skugg  and  shaw, 
And  works  us  skaith  and  scorn: 

His  huswife  he  sail  gie  to  me; — 
They's  rue  the  day  they  were  bomi " 

8. 
The  Elfen  a'  i'  the  knock  that  were, 

Gaed  dancing  in  a  string; 
They  nighed  near  the  husband's  house; 

Sae  lang  their  tails  did  hing. 


The  bound  he  yowls  i'  the  yard. 
The  herd  toots  in  his  horn; 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  32' 

The  earn  scraighs,  and  the  cock  craws. 

As  the  husbande  has  gi'en  him  his  com.' 

10. 
The  Elfen  were  five  score  and  seven, 

Sae  laidly  and  sae  grim; 
And  they  the  husband's  guests  matm  be. 

To  eat  and  drink  wi'  him. 

11. 

The  husbande,  out  o'  Villenshaw, 

At  bis  winnock  the  Elves  can  see, 
"  Help  me  now  Jesu,  Mary's  son, 

Thir  Elves  they  mint  at  me ! " 

12. 
In  every  nook  a  cross  he  coost. 

In  his  chalmer  raaist  ava; 
The  Elfen  a'  were  fley'd  thereat. 

And  flew  to  the  wild-wood  shaw. 

13. 
And  some  flew  east,  and  some  flew  west. 

And  some  to  the  norwart  flew; 
And  some  they  flew  to  the  deep  dale  down, 

There  still  they  are  I  trow.* 


I  This  singular  quatrain  stands  thus  in  the  oriffindt : — 
"  Hunden  hand  gior  i  gaarden; 

Hiorden  tud6  i  sit  horn ; 
(Emen  skriger,  og  hanen  galer, 

Som  bonden  hafd6  gifvet  sit  kom." 

•  /n  ike  Danish  :— 

"  Somm6  floy6  oster,  og  somm6  floy^  vester, 

Nogl6  floye  nor  paa; 
Nogl6  floy6  ued  i  dyben6  dal6, 

Jeg  troer  de  erh  der  endno." 


APPENDIX    TO    THE 

14. 
!t  was  then  the  weist  Elf, 

In  at  the  door  braids  he ; 
Agast  was  the  husbande,  for  that  Elf 

For  cross  nor  sign  wad  flee. 

15. 

The  huswife  she  was  a  canny  wife, 
She  set  the  Elf  at  the  board; 

She  set  before  him  baith  ale  and  meat, 
Wi'  mony  a  weel-waled  word. 

16. 
*'  Hear  thou,  Gudeman  o'  Villenshaw, 

What  now  I  say  to  thee ; 
Wha  bade  thee  bigg  within  our  bounds, 

Without  the  leave  o'  me  ? 

17. 
"  But,  an  thou  in  our  bounds  will  bigg, 

And  bide,  as  well  as  may  be. 
Then  thou  thy  dearest  huswife  maun 

To  me  for  a  lemman  gie." 

18. 

Up  spak  the  luckless  husbande  then, 
As  God  the  grace  him  gae: 

"  Eline  she  is  to  me  sae  dear, 
Her  thou  may  nae-gate  hae." 

19. 
Till  the  Elf  he  answered  as  he  couth: 

"  Lat  but  my  huswife  be. 
And  take  whate'er,  o'  gude  or  gear 

Is  mine,  awa  wi'  thee." 

20. 
^  Then  I'll  thy  Eline  tak  and  thee, 

Aneath  my  feet  to  tread; 
And  hide  thy  goud  and  white  monie 

Aneath  my  dwalliug  stead." 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  329 

21. 

The  husbande  and  his  househald  a' 

In  sary  rede  they  joui: 
**  Far  better  that  she  be  now  forfaim. 

Nor  that  we  a'  should  tyne." 

22. 
Up,  will  of  rede,  the  husbande  stood, 

Wi'  heart  fu'  sad  and  sair; 
And  he  has  gieu  his  huswife  Eline 

Wi'  the  young  Elfe  to  fare. 

23. 
Then  blyth  grew  he,  and  sprang  about; 

He  took  her  in  his  arm ; 
The  rud  it  left  her  comely  cheek; 

Her  heart  was  clem'd  wi'  harm. 

24. 
A  waefu'  woman  then  she  was  ane, 

And  the  moody  tears  loot  fa' : 
God  rew  on  me,  unseely  wife, 

How  hard  a  weird  I  fa'  I 

25. 
"  My  fay  I  plight  to  the  faurest  wight 

That  man  on  mold  mat  see ; — 
Maun  I  now  mell  wi'  a  laidly  El, 

His  light  lemman  to  be?  " 

26. 
He  minted  ance — he  minted  twice, 

Wae  wax'd  her  heart  that  s^-th: 
Syne  the  laidliest  fiend  he  grew  that  e'er 

To  mortal  ee  did  kyth. 

27. 
When  he  the  thirden  time  can  mint 

To  Mary's  son  she  pray'i, 
And  the  laidly  Elf  wiia  clean  awa, 

And  a  fair  knight  in  his  stead- 


330  APPENDIX   TO    THE 

28. 
This  fell  under  a  linden  green, 

That  again  his  shape  he  found ; 
O'  "wae  and  care  was  the  word  nae  mair, 

A' -were  sae  glad  that  stound. 

29. 
"  O  dearest  Eline,  hear  thou  this, 

And  thou  my  wife  sail  be. 
And  a'  the  goud  in  merry  England 

Sae  freely  I'll  gi'e  thee! 


**  Whan  I  was  but  a  little  wee  bairn. 

My  mither  died  me  fra; 
My  stepmither  sent  me  awa  fra  her; 

I  tum'd  till  an  Elfin  Gray. 

31. 

♦*  To  thy  husbande  I  a  gift  will  gie, 

Wi'  mickle  state  and  gear, 
As  mends  for  Eline  his  huswife; — 

Thou's  be  my  heartis  dear." — 

32. 
"  Thou  nobil  knyght,  we  thank  now  God 

That  has  freed  us  frae  skaith ; 
Sae  wed  thou  thee  a  maiden  free, 

And  joy  attend  ye  baith ! 

33. 
"  Sin  I  to  thee  nae  maik  can  be 

My  dochter  may  be  thine ; 
And  thy  gud  will  right  to  fulfill. 

Let  this  be  our  propine."  — 

34. 
«I  thank  thee,  Eline,  thou  wise  woman; 

My  praise  thy  worth  sail  ha'e ; 
And  thy  love  gin  I  fail  to  win. 

Thou  here  at  hame  sail  stay." 


LADY    OF   THE    LAKE. 


331 


35. 

The  husbande  biggit  now  on  his  oe, 
And  nane  ane  wrought  him  wrong; 

His  docliter  wore  crown  in  Engeland, 
And  happy  lived  and  lang. 


Now  Eline,  the  husbande's  huswife  has 
Cour'd  a'  her  grief  and  harms; 

She's  mither  to  a  noble  queen 
That  sleeps  in  a  kingis  arms. 


GLOSSARY. 


St  1.  Wold,  a  wood;  woody 
fastness. 

Husbande,  from  the  Dan.  ho$, 
with,  and  bonde,  a  villain, 
or  bondsman,  who  was  a 
cultivator  of  the  ground, 
and  could  not  quit  the  estate 
to  which  he  was  attached, 
without  the  permission  of 
his  lord.  This  is  the  sense 
of  the  word,  in  the  old 
Scottish  records.  In  the 
Scottish  "  Burghe  Laws," 
translated  from  the  Beg. 
MnjesL  (Auchinleck  MS.  in 
the  Adv.  Lib.)  it  is  used 
indiscriminately  with  the 
Dan.  and  Swed.  bonde. 

Bigg,  build. 

Ligg,  lie. 

Daes,  does. 

2.  Shaw,  wood. 

Sairly,  sorely. 

4.  Aik,  oak. 

GreioaonUj  terrible. 


Bahl,  bold. 

4.  Kipples,  (couples  )  beams 
joined  at  the  top,  for  sup- 
porting a  roof,  in  building. 

Bawks,  balks;  cross  beams. 
Jloil,  laborious  industry. 
Speer'd,  asked. 
Knock,  hillock. 

5.  Weiest,  smallest. 
Creatt'd,  shrunk,  diminished; 

from  the  Gaelic,  crian,  very 
small. 

Immert,  emmet;  ant. 

Christian,  used  in  the  Danish 
ballads,  &c.  in  contradis- 
tinction to  demoniac,  as  it 
is  in  England  in  contradi*- 
tinction  to  brute;  in  which 
sense,  a  person  of  the  lower 
class  in  England,  would  call 
a  Jew  or  a  Turk,  a  Qiristian. 

Fley,  frighten. 

6.  Glowr'd,  stare  i. 
Hold,  hold. 

7.  Skugg,  shade. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE 


Skaith,  harm. 

8.  Nifjhed,  approached. 

9.  Yowls,  howls. 

Toots.— In  the  Dan.  tude  is 
applied  both  to  the  howling 
of  a  dog,  and  the  sound  of 
a  horn. 

Scrakhe,  screams. 

10.  Laidly,  loathly;  disgust- 
ingly ugly. 

Grim,  fiei'ce. 

11.  Winnock,  window. 
Mint,  aim  at. 

12.  Coost,  cast. 
Chalmer,  chamber. 
Maist,  most. 

Ava,  of  all. 

13.  Noi-wart,  northward. 
Trow,  believe. 

14.  Braids,  strides  quickly 
forward. 

Wad,  would. 

15.  Canny,  adroit. 
Many,  many. 
Weel-wakd,  well  chosen. 

17.  An,  if. 
Bide,  abide. 
Lemman,  mistress. 

18.  Nae-gate,  nowise. 

19.  CouUi,  could,  knew  how  to. 
Lat  be,  let  alone. 

Gude,  goods ;  property. 

80.  Aneo.th,  beneath. 

DwalUng-stead,  dwelling- 
place. 

21.  Sary,  sorrowful. 

Rede,  counsel ;  consultation. 

Forfairn,  forlorn ;  lost,  gone. 

Tyne,  (verb  neut.)  be  lost; 
pedsh. 


22.  Will  of  rede,  bewildered 
in  thought;  in  the  Dixnish 
original  "  vildraadage ; " 
Lat.  "iuops  consilii;"  Gr. 
uTTopov.  This  expression 
is  left  among  the  desiderata 
in  the  Glossary  to  Ritson's 
Romances,  and  has  never 
been  explained.  It  is  obso- 
lete in  the  Danish  as  well 
as  in  English. 

Fare,  go. 

23.  Eud,  red  of  the  cheek. 
Clein'd,  in  the  Danish,  klemi; 

(which,  in  the  north  of 
England,  is  still  in  use,  as 
the  word  starved  is  with 
as;)  brought  to  a  dying 
state.  It  is  used  by  our 
old  comedians. 
Harm,  grief;  as  in  the  original, 
and  in  the  old  Teutonic, 
English,  and  Scottish  po- 
etry. 

24.  Waefu,  woful. 

Moody,  strongly  and  wilfully 
passionate. 

Bew,  take  ruth;  pity. 

Uiiseely,  unhappy;  unblest. 

Weird,  fate. 

Fa,  (Isl.  Dan.  and  Swed.) 
take;  get;  acquire;  pro- 
cure; have  for  my  lot — 
This  Gothic  verb  answers 
in  its  direct  and  secondary 
significations,  exactly  to 
the  Latin  capio;  and  Allan 
Ramsay  was  right  iu  his 
definition  of  it.  It  is  quite 
a  different  word  from  yb' 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 


333 


an  abbreviation  of  ybC,  or 
iefaU:  and  is  the  principal 
ruot  in  fasgex,  to  /ang, 
take,  or  Islv  hold  of. 

15.  Fay,  faith. 

JtfbU:,  mould;  earth. 

Jfai,  mote ;  might. 

Jtfaun,  must. 

J/e//,  mix. 

£■/,  an  elf.  This  terra  in  the 
Welsh,  signifies  icliat  has  in 
itself  the  jpovctr  of  motion; 
a  moving  principle;  an  in- 
telUgence  ;  a  $pint ;  an  angel 
In  the  Hebrew  it  bears  the 
same  import. 

86.  Minted,  attempted ;  meant ; 
showed  a  ndnd,  or  intention 
to.    The  original  is : 

"  Hande  mindU  hende  forst — 

og  anden  gang ; — 
Hnn  giordis  i  hiortet  sa  vee : 
End    blef  hand    den    Udiste 

deifvel 
Hand  kunde  med  oven  see. 
Der   hand  vilde    minde    den 
tredie  gang,"  &c. 

Byik,  tide;  time. 


Kylh,  appear. 

28.  Siound,  hour;  time;  mo- 
ment. 

29.  Merry  (old  Teut  mert\ 
famous ;  renowned ;  answer 
ing,  in  its  etymological 
meaning,  exactly  to  the 
Latin  Mactus.  Hence 
merry-men,  as  the  address 
of  a  chief  to  his  followers; 
meaning,  not  men  of  mirth, 
but  of  renown.  The  term 
is  found  in  its  original  sense 
in  the  Gael.  m<irn,  and  the 
Welsh  mavcr,  great ;  and  in 
the  oldest  Teut.  Romances, 
mar,  mer,  and  mere,  have 
sometimes  the  same  signifi- 
cation. 

31.  Mends,  amends;  recom- 
pense. 

33.  Maik,  match;  peer; 
equal. 

Propine,  pledge;  gift. 

35.  Oe,  an  island  of  the  second 
magnitude ;  an  island  of  the 
Jirst  magnitude  being  called 
a  land,  and  one  of  the  third 
magnitude  a  lioluu 

86.  Cottr'dj  recovered. 


334  APPENDIX   TO    THE 

THE    GHAIST'S   WARXrXG. 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    DANISH    K.KMl'E    VISER,   p.  721 

By  the  ])ermission  of  Mr.  Jamieson,  this  ballad  is  added 
from  the  same  curious  Collection.  It  contains  some 
passages  of  great  pathos. 


Svend  Dyriny  hmid  ruler  sifj  op  under  oe, 

(  Vtire  jeij  selver  un<j) 
Der  fteste  haiul  siy  sua  vtn  en  inoe. 

(Mi<j  lijsltr  udi  lundtn  at  rule,)  &c. 


Child  Dyring  li:is  ridden  him  up  under  oe,i 

{And  0  <jin  1  icere  young  !) 
There  wedded  he  him  sae  fair 3  a  may. 

(y  Oie  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 

Thegither  they  hved  for  seven  lang  year, 

{And  0,  #c.) 
And  they  seven  bairns  hae  gotten  in  fere. 

(7'  the  greenwood,  ^c.) 

^  "  Under  oe." — The  original  expression  has  been  preserved 
here  and  elsewhere,  because  no  other  could  be  found  to  sup- 
ply its  place.  There  is  just  as  much  meaning  in  it  in  the 
translation  as  in  the  original;  but  it  is  a  standard  Danish 
ballad  phrase;  and  as  such,  it  is  hoped,  will  be  allowed  to 
pass. 

2  "Fair." — The  Dan.  and  Swed.  ren,  vxn,  or  venne,  and  the 
Sael,  ban,  in  the  oblique  cases  hhan  {van),  is  the  origin  of  the 
Scottish  bonny^  which  has  so  much  puzzled  ail  the  etymolo- 
gists. 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  335 

Sae  Death's  come  there  intill  that  stead. 
And  that  winsome  lilj  flower  is  dead. 

That  swain  he  has  ridden  him  up  mider  6e, 
And  syne  he  has  married  anither  may. 

He's  married  a  may,  and  he's  fessen  her  hamej 
But  she  was  a  grim  and  a  laidly  dame. 

When  into  the  castell  court  drave  she, 

The  seven  bairns  stood  wi'  the  tear  in  their  ee. 

The  bairns  they  stood  wi'  dule  and  doubt;— 
She  up  wi'  her  foot,  and  she  kicked  them  out 

Nor  ale  nor  mead  to  the  bairnies  she  gave: 
"  But  hunger  and  hate  frae  me  ye's  have." 

She  took  frae  tliem  the  bowster  blae, 
And  said,  '*  Ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  bare  strae'  " 

She  took  frae  them  the  groflf  wax-light: 

Says,  "  Now  ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night!  " 

'Twas  lang  i'  the  night,  and  the  bairnies  grat: 
Their  mither  she  under  the  mools  heard  that} 

That  heard  the  wife  under  the  card  that  lay: 
"  For  sooth  maxm  I  to  my  bairnies  gae!  " 

That  wife  can  stand  up  at  our  Lord's  knee. 
And  "  May  I  gang  and  my  bairnies  see  ?  " 

She  prigged  sae  sair,  and  she  prigged  sae  lang, 
That  he  at  the  last  ga'e  her  leave  to  gang. 

"And  thou  sail  come  back  when  the  cock  does  crawi 
For  thou  nae  lauger  sail  bide  awa." 


336  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

Wi'  her  banes  sae  stark  a  bowt  she  gae ; 
She's  riven  baith  wa'  and  marble  gray.] 

When  near  to  the  dwalling  she  can  gang, 
The  dogs  they  wow'd  till  the  lift  it  rang. 

When  she  came  till  the  castell  yett, 
Her  eldest  dochter  stood  thereat. 


"  Why  stand  ye  here,  dear  dochter  mine  ? 
How  are  sma  Irithers  and  sisters  thine?  " — 

"  For  sooth  ye're  a  woman  baith  fair  and  fine; 
But  ye  are  nae  dear  mither  of  mine." — 

•*  Och!  how  should  I  be  fine  or  fair? 

My  cheek  it  is  pale,  and  the  ground's  my  lair." — 

" My  mither  was  white,  wi'  cheek  sae  red; 
But  thou  art  wan.  and  liker  ane  dead." — 

"  Och  I  how  should  I  be  white  and  red, 
Sae  lang  as  I've  been  cauld  and  dead  ?  ** 

When  she  cam  till  the  chalmer  in, 
Down  the  bairns'  cheeks  the  tears  did  rin. 

She  buskit  the  tane,  and  she  brush'd  it  there; 
She  kem'd  and  plaited  the  tither's  hair. 


I  The  wiginal  of  this  ami  the  following  etama  i$  very  fbu 

"  Hun  skod  op  sin6  modig6  been, 
Der  revened^  muur  og  graa  marmorsteen. 
Der  hun  gik  igennem  den  by, 
De  hunde  de  tude  sja  hoji  %  sky. 


LADY    OF    TRF.    LAKE.  387 

The  thirden  she  doodl'd  upon  her  knee. 
And  the  fourthen  she  dichted  sae  cannilie. 

She's  ta'en  the  fifthen  upon  her  lap. 
And  sweetly  suckled  it  at  her  pap. 

Till  her  eldest  dochter  syne  said  she, 

"  Ye  bid  Child  Dyring  come  he.-e  to  me.'- 

When  he  cam  till  the  chalmer  in, 
Wi'  angry  mood  she  said  to  him; 

**  I  left  you  routh  o'  ale  and  bread ; 
My  baimies  quail  for  hunger  and  need. 

"I  left  ahind  me  braw  bowsters  blae; 
My  baimies  are  liggiug  i'  the  bare  strae. 

**I  left  ye  sae  mony  a  groff  wax-light; 
My  baimies  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night, 

"  Gin  aft  I  come  back  to  visit  thee, 

Wae,  dowy,  and  weary  thy  luck  shall  be.*' 

Up  spak  little  Kirstin  in  bed  that  lay: 
"  To  thy  baimies  I'll  do  the  best  I  may." 

Aye  when  they  heard  the  dog  nirr  and  bell, 
Sae  ga'e  they  the  baimies  bread  and  ale. 

Aye  whan  the  dog  did  wow,  in  haste 

They  cross'd  and  sain'd  themselves  frae  the  ghaist 

Aye  whan  the  little  dog  yowl'd,  with  fear 

{And  0  gin  Itcere  young!) 
They  shook  at  the  thought  that  the  dead  wa«  neaj 

{r  the  yreenvDood  it  ILsls  me  to  ride.) 
or, 

{Fair  tcordt  aae  mony  a  heart  Ihey  cheer.) 

22 


S38 


APPENDIX   TO    THE 


GLOSSARY. 


St.  1.  J/ay,  maid. 

Lists^  pleases. 
2.  Stead,  place. 
3    Bairns,  children. 
Inftre,  together. 
Winsome,  engaging;  giving 
joy  (old  Teut.) 

4.  Syne,  then. 

5.  Fessen,  fetched,  brought. 

6.  Drave,  drove. 

7.  JJule,  sorrow. 
Dout,  fear. 

8.  Bowster,  bolster,  cushion; 

bed. 
Blae,  blue. 
Strae,  straw. 

10.  Gvoff,    great;    large    in 
girt. 

Mark,  mirk;  dark. 

11.  Lany  V  the  night,  late. 
Grat,  wept. 

Moul.%  mould;  earth. 

12.  Eard,  earth. 
Gae,  go. 

14.  Prigged,  entreated  earn- 
estU'  and  perseveringly. 

Gang,  go. 

15.  Craw,  crow. 
IG.  Banes,  bones. 
Stark,  strong. 

Bowl,  bolt;  elastic  spring,  like 


that    of    a    holt  or  arrou 

from  a  bow. 
Riven,  split  asunder. 
Wa\  wall. 

17.  Wow'd,  howled. 
Lift,  sky;  firmament;  air. 

18.  I'ett,  gate. 

19.  Sma,  small. 

22.  Lire,  complexion. 

23.  Cald,  cold. 

24.  Till,  to. 
Rin,  run. 

25.  Biiskit,  dressed. 
Kem'd,  combed. 
Tithe7%  the  other. 

28.  Routh,  plenty. 
Quail,  are  quelled;  die. 
Need,  want. 

29.  Ahind,  behind. 
Braw,  brave ;  tine. 
31.  Dowy,  sorrowful. 

33.  Nirr,  snarl. 
5eW,  bark. 

34.  Sained;  blessed,  literally, 
signed  with  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  Before  the  intro- 
duction of  Christianity, 
Runes  were  used  in  sain- 
ing, as  a  spell  against  the 
power  of  enchantment  and 
evil  genii. 

Ghaist,  ghost. 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  339 


NOTE  L. 

Wliy  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oaJCj 

Our  moonliyhl  circle's  screen  ? 
Or  jcho  cones  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  Elfn    Queen  ? — P.  172. 

It  has  been  already  observed,  that  fairies,  if  not 
positively  malevolent,  are  capricious  and  easily  of- 
fended. They  are,  like  other  proprietors  of  forests, 
peculiarly  jealous  of  their  rights  of  vert  and  venison, 
as  appears  from  the  cause  of  offence  taken  in  the 
original  Danish  ballad.  This  jealousy  was  also  an 
attribute  of  the  northern  Duergar,  or  dwarfs;  to 
many  of  whose  distinctions  the  fairies  seem  to  have 
succeeded,  if,  indeed,  they  are  not  the  same  class  of 
beings.  In  the  huge  metrical  record  of  German 
chivalry,  entitled  the  Helden-Buch,  Sir  Hildebrand, 
and  the  other  heroes  of  whom  it  treats,  are  engaged 
in  one  of  their  most  desperate  adventures,  from  a  rash 
violation  of  the  rose-garden  of  an  Elfin,  or  Dwarf 
King. 

There  are  yet  traces  of  a  belief  in  this  worst  and 
vnost  malicious  order  of  Fairies  among  the  Border 
wilds.  Dr.  Leyden  has  introduced  such  a  dwarf  into 
his  ballad  entitled  the  Cout  of  Keeldar,  and  has  not 
forgot  his  characteristic  detestation  of  the  chase. 

**  The  third  blast  that  youn^  Keelcar  blew, 
Still  stood  the  limber  fern, 
And  a  wee  man,  of  swarthy  hue, 
Upstarted  Ly  a  cairu. 


340  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

"  Hia  russet  weeds  were  brown  as  heath 
That  clothes  the  upland  fell; 
And  the  hair  of  his  head  was  frizzly  red 

As  the  purple  heather-bell. 

'*An  urchin,  clad  in  prickles  red, 
Clung  cow'ring  to  his  arm; 
The  hounds  they  howl'd,  and  backward  fl«d. 
As  struck  by  fairy  charm. 

'♦*  Why  rises  high  the  stag-hounds's  cry, 
Where  stag-hound  ne'er  should  be? 
Why  wakes  that  horn  the  silent  morn. 
Without  the  leave  of  me  V ' — 

'♦ '  BrowTi  dwarf,  that  o'er  the  moorland  strays, 
Thy  name  to  Keeldar  tell !  '— 
'  The  Brown  lilau  of  the  Muirs,  who  stays 
Beneath  the  heather-bell. 

'*«'Tis  sweet  beneath  the  heather-bell 
To  live  in  Autumn  brown ; 
And  sweet  to  hear  the  lav'rock's  swell, 
Far,  far  from  tower  and  town. 

" '  But  woe  betide  the  shrilling  horn, 
The  chase's  surly  cheer! 
And  ever  that  hunter  is  forlorn, 
Whom  first  at  morn  I  hear.'  " 


The  poetical  picture  here  given  of  the  Duergar  cor- 
responds exactly  with  the  following  Northumbrian 
legend,  with  which  I  was  lately  favoured  by  my  learned 
and  kind  I'riend,  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mainsforth,  who  has 
bestowed  indefatigable  labour  upon  the  antiquities  of 
the  English  Border  counties.  The  subject  is  in  itself 
so  curious,  that  the  length  of  the  note  will,  T  hope,  be 
pardoned. 


LAJ>Y    OF    THE    LAKE.  341 

"  I  have  only  one  record  to  offer  of  the  appearance 
of  our  Northumbrian  Duergar.  i\[y  narratrlx  is 
Elizabeth  Cockburn,  an  old  wife  of  Offerton,  in  this 
county,  whose  credit,  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  will  not, 
I  hope,  be  much  impeached,  when  I  add,  that  she  is, 
by  her  dull  neighbours,  supposed  to  be  occasionally  in- 
sane, but,  by  herself,  to  be  at  those  times  endowed 
^vith  a  faculty  of  seeing  visions,  and  spectral  appear- 
ances, which  shun  the  common  ken. 

"In  the  year  before  the  great  rebellion,  two  young 
men  from  Newcastle  were  sporting  on  the  high  mooi-s 
above  Elsdon,  and  after  pursuing  their  game  several 
hours,  sat  down  to  dine  in  a  green  glen  near  one  of 
the  mountain  streams.  After  their  repast,  the  younger 
lad  ran  to  the  brook  for  water,  and  after  stooping  to 
drink,  w£is  surprised,  on  lifting  his  head  again,  by  the 
appearance  of  a  brown  dwarf,  who  stood  on  a  crag 
covered  with  brackens,  across  the  burn.  This  extra- 
ordinary personage  did  not  appear  to  be  above  half 
the  stature  of  a  common  man,  but  was  uncommonly 
stout  and  broad-built,  having  the  appearance  of  vast 
strength.  His  dress  was  entirely  brown,  the  colour  of 
the  brackens,  and  his  head  covered  with  frizzled  red 
hair.  His  countenance  was  expressive  of  the  most 
savage  ferocity,  and  his  eyes  glared  like  a  bull.  It 
seems  he  addressed  the  young  man  first,  threatening 
him  with  his  vengeance,  for  having  trespassed  on  his 
demesnes,  and  asking  him  if  he  knew  in  whose  pres- 
ence he  stood  ?  The  youth  replied,  that  he  now  sup- 
posed him  to  be  the  lord  of  the  moors ;  that  he  offended 
through  ignorance ;  and  offered  to  bring  him  the  game 
he  had  killed.  The  dwarf  was  a  little  mollified  by  this 
lubmissicn,  but  remarked,  that  nothing  co?ild  be  morf 


342  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

offensive  to  hlni  than  sucli  an  offer,  as  he  considered 
the  "wild  animals  as  his  subjects,  and  never  failed  to 
avenge  their  destruction.  He  condescended  further 
to  inform  him,  that  he  was,  like  himself,  mortal,  though 
of  years  far  exceeding  the  lot  of  common  humanity ; 
and  (what  I  should  not  have  had  an  idea  of)  that  he 
hoped  for  salvation.  He  never,  he  added,  fed  on  any 
thiijg  that  had  life,  but  lived  in  the  summer,  on  wortle- 
benies,  and  in  winter  on  nuts  and  apples,  of  which 
he  had  great  store  in  the  woods.  Finally,  he  invited 
his  new  acquaintance  to  accompany  him  home,  and 
partake  his  hospitality;  an  offer  which  the  youth 
was  on  the  point  of  accepting,  ana  was  just  going  to 
spring  across  the  brook,  (which  if  he  had  done,  says 
Elizabeth,  the  dwarf  would  certainly  have  torn  him 
in  pieces,)  when  his  foot  was  arrested  by  the  voice  of 
his  companion,  who  thought  he  had  tarried  long;  and, 
on  looking  round  again, '  the  wee  brown  man  was 
fled.'  The  story  adds,  that  he  was  imprudent  enough 
to  slight  the  admonition,  and  to  sport  over  the  moors 
on  his  way  homewards ;  but  soon  after  his  return,  he 
fell  into  a  lingering  disorder,  and  died  within  the 
year." 

Note  M. 

And  gaily  shines  the  Fairy-land —     . 
But  all  is  glistening  show. — P.  17^ 

No  fact  respecting  Fairy-land  seems  to  be  better 
Rscertained  than  the  fantastic  and  illusory  nature  of 
their  apparent  pleasure  and  splendour.  It  has  been 
already  noticed  in   the   former  quotations  from  Dr 


LADT    OF    THE    LAKE.  345 

Grahame's   ontertaining   volume,  and   may   be   con- 
firmed  by   the    follo^ving   Hi^jhland    tradition :    ''  A 
woman,  whose    new-born  child    had  been  conveyed 
by  them  into   their  secret   abodes,  was  also  carried 
thither  herself,  to   remain,  however,  only   until    she 
could    suckle    her    iniaut.       She,   one    day,   during 
this   period,  observed   the    Slii'ichs   busily   employed 
in    mixing    various    ingredients    in    a    boiling    cal- 
dron ;    and,  as   soon    as    the    composition    was   pre- 
pared, she  i-emarked  that  they  all  carefully  anointed 
their   eyes  with  It,  laying  the    remainder   aside   for 
future  use.     In  a  moment  when  they  were  all  absent, 
she  also  attempted  to  anoint  her  eyes  with  the  precious 
drug,  but  had  time  to  apply  it  to  one  eye  only,  when 
the  Daoine  Shi'  returned.     But  with  that  eye  she  was 
henceforth   enabled  to   see   everything   as   it   really 
passed  in  their  secret  abodes.     She  saw  every  object, 
not  as  she  hitherto  had  done,  in  deceptive  splendour 
and  elegance,  but  in  its  genuine  colours  and  form. 
The  gaudy  ornaments  of  the  apartment  were  reduced 
to  the  walls  of  a  gloomy  cavern.     Soon  after,  having 
discharged  her  office,  she  was  dismissed  to  her  own 
home.     Still,  however,  she  retained  the  faculty  of  see- 
ing, with  her  medicated  eye,  everything  that  was  done, 
anywhere  in  her  presence,  by  the  deceptive  art  of  the 
order.      One   day,  amidst   a    throng   of  people,  she 
chanced  to  observe  the  Shi'ich,  or  man  of  peace,  in 
whose  possession  she  had  left  her  child ;   though  to 
every  other   eye   invisible.      Prompted    by  maternal 
affection,  she  inadvertently  accosted  him,  and  began 
to  inquire  after  the  welfare  of  her  child.     The  man  of 
peace,  astonished  at  being  thus  recognized  by  one  of 
fciortal  race,  demanded  how  she  had  been  enabled  to 


344  APPENDIX   TO    THE 

discover  him.  Awed  by  the  terrible  frown  of  hia 
countenance,  she  acknowledged  what  she  had  done. 
He  spat  in  her  eye,  and  extinguished  it  forever." — 
GpvAiiame's  Sketches,  p.  116-118.  It  is  very  re- 
markable, that  this  story,  translated  by  Dr.  Grahame 
from  popular  Gaelic  tradition,  is  to  be  fouud  in  the 
Otia  Imperialia  of  Gervase  of  TilburyJ     A  work  of 

1  [This  story  is  still  current  in  the  moors  of  Staffordshire, 
and  adapted  by  the  peasantry  to  their  own  meridian.  I  have 
repeatedly  heard  it  told,  exactly  as  here,  by  rustics  who  could 
not  read.  My  last  authority  was  a  nailer  near  Cheadle. — B. 
Jamieson-I 

[One  other  legend,  in  a  similar  strain,  lately  commuiiicated 
by  a  very  intelligent  young  lady,  is  given,  principally  because 
it  furnishes  an  opportunity  of  pursuing  an  ingenious  idea 
suggested  by  Mr.  Scott,  in  one  of  his  learned  notes  to  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake  : — 

"  A  young  man  roaming  one  day  through  the  forest,  ob- 
served a  number  of  persons  all  dressed  in  green,  issuing  from 
one  of  those  round  eminences  which  are  commonly  accounted 
fairy  hills.  Each  of  them  in  succession  called  upon  a  person 
by  name,  to  fttch  his  horse.  A  caparisoned  steed  instantly 
appeared ;  they  all  mounted,  and  sallied  forth  into  the  regions 
of  air.  The  young  man,  like  Ali  Baba  in  the  Arabian  Nights, 
ventured  to  pronounce  the  same  name,  and  called  for  his 
horse.  The  steed  immediately  appeared;  he  mounted,  and 
was  soon  joined  to  the  fairy  choir.  He  remained  with  them 
for  a  year,  going  about  with  them  to  fairs  and  weddings,  and 
feasting,  thougli  unseen  by  mortal  eyes,  on  the  victuals  that 
were  exhibited  on  those  occasions.  They  had  one  day  gone 
10  a  wedding,  Avhere  the  cheer  was  abundant.  During  the 
feast,  the  bridegroom  sneezed.  The  young  man,  according  to 
the  usual  custom,  said, '  God  bless  you ! '  The  fairies  were 
offended  at  the  pronunciation  of  the  sacred  name,  and  assured 
him,  that  if  he  dared  to  repeat  it,  they  would  punish  him. 
The  bridegroom  sneezed  a  second  time.  He  repeated  his 
blessing;  they  threatened  more  tremendous  vengeance.     H« 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  315 

great  interest  might  be  compiled  upon  the  origin  of 
popular  fiction,  and  the  transmission  of  similar  talea 
from  age  to  age,  and  from  country  to  countiy.  The 
mythology  of  one  period  would  then  appear  to  pass 
into  the  romance  of  the  next  century,  and  that  into 
the  nursery-tale  of  the  subsequent  ages.  Such  an 
investigation,  while  it  went  greatly  to  diminish  our 
ideat  of  the  richness  of  human  invention,  would  also 
show,  that  these  fictions,  however  wild  and  childish, 
possess  such  channs  for  the  populace,  as  enable  them 
to  penetrate  into  countries  unconnected  by  manners 
and  language,  and  having  no  apparent  intercourse,  to 
afibi'd  the  means  of  transmission.  It  would  carry  nie 
far  beyond  my  bounds,  to  produce  instances  of  this 
community  of  fable,  among  nations  who  never  bor- 
rowed from  each  other  anything  intrinsically  worth 
learning.  Indeed,  the  wide  difiusion  of  popular  fic- 
tions may  be  compared  to  the  facility  with  which 
straws  and  feathers  are  dispersed  abroad  by  the  wind, 
while  valuable  metals  cannot  be  transported  without 
trouble  and  labour.  There  lives,  I  believe,  only  one 
gentleman,  whose  unlimited  acquaintance  with  this 
subject  might  enable  him  to  do  it  justice  ;  I  mean  my 
friend,  Mr.  Francis  Douce,  of  the  British  Museum, 
whose  usual  kindness  will,  I  hope,  pardon  my  men- 
tioning his  name,  while  on  a  subject  so  closely  con- 
nected with  his  extensive  and  curious  researches. 

».*e2€c?  a  third  time;  he  blessed  him  as  before  The  fairies 
were  enraged;  they  tumbled  him  from  a  precipice;  but  he 
found  himself  unhurt,  and  was  restored  to  the  society  of 
moitals." — Dr.  Grahame's  Sketches,  second  edit.  p.  255-7  — 
See  Note,  "Fairy  Supei-stitions,"  Rob  Roy,  N.  Edit.j 


B46  APPENDIX    TO    THE 


Note  N. 


See,  here,  all  vantageless  I  stand, 

Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand. — P.  215. 

The  duellists  of  former  times  did  not  always  stand 
upon  those  punctilios  respecting  equality  of  arms, 
which  are  now  judged  essential  to  fair  combat.  It  is 
true,  that  in  formal  combats  in  the  lists,  the  parties 
were,  by  the  judges  of  the  field,  put  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible in  the  same  circumstances.  But  in  private  duel 
it  was  often  otherwise.  In  that  desperate  combat 
which  was  fought  between  Quelus,  a  minion  of  Henry 
in.  of  France,  and  Antraguet,  with  two  seconds  on 
each  side,  from  which  only  two  persons  escaped  alive, 
Quelus  complained  that  his  antagonist  had  over  liim 
the  advantage  of  a  poinard  which  he  used  in  parry- 
ing, while  his  left  hand,  which  he  was  forced  to  em- 
ploy for  the  same  purpose,  was  cruelly  mangled. 
When  he  charged  Antraguet  with  this  odds,  "  Thou 
hast  done  wrong,"  answered  he,  "  to  forget  thy  dagger 
at  home.  We  are  here  to  fight,  and  not  to  settle 
punctilios  of  arms."  In  a  similar  duel,  however,  a 
younger  brother  of  the  house  of  Aubanye,  in  Angou- 
lesme,  behaved  more  generously  on  the  like  occasion, 
and  at  once  threw  away  his  dagger  when  his  enemy 
challenged  it  as  an  undue  advantage.  But  at  this 
time  hardly  any  thing  can  be  conceived  more  horridly 
brutal  and  savage  than  the  mode  in  which  private 
quarrels  were  conducted  in  France.  Those  who  were 
most  jealous  of  the  point  of  honour,  and  acquired  the 
title  of  Rujffines,  did  not  scruple  to  take  every  advan- 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  347 

tage  of  strength,  numbers,  surprise,  and  arms,  to 
accomplish  their  revenge.  The  Sieur  de  Brantome, 
to  whose  discourse  on  duels  I  am  obliged  for  these 
particulars,  gives  the  following  account  of  the  death 
and  principles  of  his  friend,  the  Baron  de  Vitaux  : — 
"Jay  oui  conter  k  un  Tireur  d'armes,  qui  apprit  k 
Millaud  a  en  tirer,  lequel  s'appelloit  Seigneur  ie 
Jacques  FeiTon,  de  la  ville  d'Ast,  qui  avoit  est6  h 
moy,  il  fut  despuis  tue  a  Saincte-Basille  en  Gasi-ogiie, 
lors  que  Monsieur  du  ^layne  I'assiegea,  lui  sei-vant 
d'Ingenieur ;  et  de  malheur,  je  I'avois  addresse  audit 
Baron  quelques  trois  mois  auparavant,  pour  I'exeroer 
k  tiixr,  bien  qu'il  en  s^eust  prou ;  mais  il  ne'en  fit 
compre :  et  le  laissant  Millaud  s'en  servit,  et  le  rendit 
fort  adroit.  Ce  Seigneur  Jacques  done  me  raconta, 
qui'l  s'estoit  monte  sur  un  noyer,  assez  loing,  pour  en 
voir  le  combat,  et  qu'il  ne  vist  jamais  honune  y  aller 
plu«  braveraent,  ny  plus  resolument,  ny  de  grace  plus 
asseuree  ny  determinee.  II  commen9a  de  marcher 
de  cinquante  pas  vers  son  enemy,  relevant  souvent 
ses  moustaches  en  haut  d'une  main  ;  et  estant  h  vingt 
pas  de  son  enncmy  (non  plustost),  il  mit  la  main  k 
I'espee  quil  tenoit  en  la  main,  non  qu'il  I'eust  tiree 
encore ;  mais  en  marchant,  il  fit  voller  le  fourreau  en 
I'air,  en  le  secouant,  ce  qui  est  le  beau  de  cela,  et  (ini 
monstroit  bien  un  grace  de  combat  bien  asseuree  et 
froide,  et  nuUement  temeraire,  comme  il  y  en  a  qui 
Urent  leurs  espees  de  cinq  cents  pas  de  rennemy, 
TDire  de  mille,  comme  j'en  ay  veu  aucuns.  Ainsi 
mounit  ce  brave  Baron,  le  paragon  de  France,  qu'on 
nommoit  tel,  a  bien  venger  ses  |uerelles,  par  grandes 
et  determinees  resolutions.  11  n'estoit  pas  seulement 
estime  en    Fraice,  mais  en    Italie,   Espaigne,    Alle 


348  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

maigne,  en  Boulogne  et  Angleterre  ;  et  desiroient  fort 
les  Estrangers,  venant  en  France,  le  voir ;  car  je  I'ay 
veu,  tant  sa  renommee  voUoit  II  estoit  fort  ])etit  de 
corps,  mais  fort  gi'and  de  courage.  Ses  ennemia 
disoient  qu'il  ne  tuoit  pas  bien  ses  gens,  que  par  ad- 
vantages et  supercheries.  Certes,  je  tiens  de  grands 
capitaines,  et  mesme  d'ltallens,  qui  ont  estez  d'autres 
fois  les  premiers  vengeurs  du  monde,  in  ogni  modo^ 
disoientrils,  qui  ont  tenu  cette  maxime,  qu'une  super- 
cherie  ne  se  devoit  payer  que  par  semblable  monnoye, 
et  n'y  alloit  point  Ik  de  deshonneur." — Oeiivres  de 
Brantome,  Paris,  1787-8.  Tome  viii.  p.  90-92.  It 
may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  reader,  that  this  para- 
gon of  France  was  the  most  foul  assassin  of  his  time, 
and  had  committed  many  desperate  nmrders,  chiefly 
by  the  assistance  of  his  hired  banditti ;  from  which  it 
may  be  conceived  how  little  the  point  of  honour  of 
the  period  deserved  its  name.  I  have  chosen  to  give 
my  heroes,  who  are  indeed  of  an  earlier  period,  a 
stronger  tincture  of  the  spirit  of  chivalry. 


Note  O. 

The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day. — P.  229. 

Every  burgh  of  Scotland,  of  the  least  note,  but 
more  especially  the  considerable  towns,  had  iheir 
solemn  pJay-,  or  festival,  when  feats  of  archery  were 
exhibited,  and  prizes  distributed  to  those  who  excelled 
in  wrestling,  hurling  the  bar,  and  the  other  gymnastic 
exercises  of  the  period.  Stirling,  a  usual  place  of 
royal  residence,  was  not  likely  to  be  deficient  in  pomp 


LA.DT    OF    THE    LAKE.  349 

apcn  such  occasions,  especially  since  James  V.  waa 
very  partial  to  them.  His  ready  participation  in  these 
popular  amusements  was  one  cause  of  his  acquiring 
the  title  of  the  King  of  the  Commons,  or  Rex  Ple- 
beiorum,  as  Lesley  has  latinized  it.  The  usual  prize 
to  the  best  shooter  was  a  silver  arrow.  Such  a  one  is 
preserved  at  Selkirk  and  at  Peebles.  At  Dumfries,  a 
silver  gun  was  substituted,  and  the  contention  trans- 
ferred to  fire-arms.  The  ceremony,  as  there  per- 
formed, is  the  subject  of  an  excellent  Scottish  poem, 
by  Mr.  John  ^Mayne,  entitled  the  Siller  Gun,  1808, 
which  surpasses  the  efforts  of  Fergusson,  and  come3 
near  to  those  of  Burns. 

Of  James's  attachment  to  archer^-,  Pitscottie,  the 
faithful,  though  rude  recorder  of  the  manners  of  that 
period,  has  given  us  evidence  : — 

*'  In  this  year  there  came  an  embassador  out  of 
England,  named  Lord  William  Howard,  with  a  bishop 
with  him,  with  many  other  gentlemen,  to  the  number 
of  threciicore  horse,  which  were  all  able  men  and 
waled  [picked]  men  for  all  kinds  of  jrames  and  past- 
times,  shooting,  louplng,  running,  wresthng,  and  ca^t- 
Ing  of  the  stone,  but  they  were  well  'sayed  [e?saved 
or  tried]  ere  they  passed  out  of  Scotland,  and  that 
by  their  own  provocation ;  but  ever  they  tint :  till  at 
last,  the  Queen  of  Scotland,  the  king's  mother,  fa- 
voured the  English-men,  because  she  was  the  King  of 
England's  sister ;  and  therefore  she  took  an  enterprise 
of  archery  upon  the  English-men's  hands,  contrary 
her  son  the  king,  and  any  six  in  Scotland  that  he 
would  wale,  either  gentlemen  or  yeomen,  that  the 
English-men  should  shoot  against  them,  either  al 
pricks,  revers,  or  buts,  as  the  Scots  pleased. 


B50  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

"  Tlie  king,  hearing  this  of  his  mother,  was  content, 
and  gart  her  pawn  a  hundred  crowns,  and  a  tun  of 
wine,  upon  the  Enghsh-men's  hands ;  and  he  incon- 
tinent laid  do^vn  as  much  for  the  Scottish-men.  The 
fiekl  and  ground  was  chosen  in  St.  Andrews,  and 
three  landed  men  and  three  yeomen  chosen  to  shoot 
against  the  English-men, — to  wit,  David  Wemyss  of 
that  ilk,  David  Arnot  of  that  ilk,  and  jNIi*.  John  Wed- 
derburn,  vicar  of  Dundee  ;  the  yeomen,  John  Thom- 
son, in  Leith,  Steven  Tabumer,  with  a  piper,  called 
Alexander  Bailie ;  they  shot  very  near,  and  warred 
[worsted]  the  Englishmen  of  the  enterprise,  and  wan 
the  hundred  crowns  and  the  tun  of  wine,  which  made 
the  king  very  merry  that  his  men  wan  the  victory." — 
P.  147. 

Note  P 

IViese  drew  not  for  their  Jields  the  sword. 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord. 
Nor  own'd  the  patriarchal  claim, 
Of  Chieftain  in  their  leader's  name  ; 
Adventurers  they P.  251. 

The  Scottish  armies  consisted  chiefly  of  the  nobihty 
and  barons,  with  their  vassals,  who  held  lands  under 
them,  for  military  ser\'ice  by  themselves  and  their 
teiJints.  The  patriarchal  influence  exercised  by  the 
heads  of  clans  in  the  Highlands  and  Borders  was  of 
a  dltfcrent  nature,  and  sometimes  at  variance  with 
feudal  principles.  It  flowed  from  the  Patria  Potestas, 
exercised  by  the  chieftain  as  representing  the  original 
father  of  the  whole  name,  and  was  often  obeyed  vq 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  351 

contradiction  to  the  feudal  superior.  James  V  seems 
to  have  first  introduced,  in  addition  to  the  militia  fur- 
nished from  these  sources,  the  service  of  a  small  num- 
ber of  mercenaries,  who  formed  a  body-guard ,  called 
the  Foot-Band.  The  satirical  poet,  Sir  David  Lind- 
say, (or  the  person  who  wrote  the  prologue  to  his  plaj 
of  the  "  Three  Estaites,")  has  inti-oduced  Finlay  of 
the  Foot-Band,  who,  after  much  swaggering  upon  the 
stage,  is  at  length  put  to  flight  by  the  Fool,  who  terri- 
fies him  by  means  of  a  sheep's  skull  upon  a  pcle.  I 
have  rather  chosen  to  give  them  the  harsh  features  of 
the  mercenary  soldiers  of  the  period,  than  of  this 
Scottish  Thraso.  These  partook  of  the  character  of 
the  Adventurous  Companions  of  Froissart  or  the  Con- 
dottieri  of  Italy. 

One  of  the  best  and  liveUest  traits  of  such  manners 
is  the  la.^t  will  of  a  leader,  called  GefTroy  Tete  Noir, 
who  having  been  slightly  wounded  in  a  skirmish,  his 
intemperance  brought  on  a  mortal  disease.  When  he 
found  himself  dying,  he  summoned  to  his  bedside  the 
adventurers  whom  he  commanded,  and  thus  addressed 
them  : — 

''  Fa\Te  sirs,  quod  Gelfray,  I  knowe  well  ye  have 
ahvayes  served  and  honoured  me  as  men  ought  to 
serve  their  soveraygne  and  capitayne,  and  I  shall  be 
xhe  gladder  if  ye  wyll  agre  to  have  to  your  capitayne 
one  that  is  descended  ot"  my  blode.  Beholde  here 
Aleyne  Roux,  my  cosyn,  and  Peter  his  brother,  who 
are  men  olannes  and  of  my  blode.  I  require  you  to 
make  Aleyne  your  capitayne,  and  to  swere  to  hyro 
laythe,  obeysaunce,  love,  and  loyalte.  here  in  my  pres- 
ence, and  also  to  his  brother:  howe  be  it,  I  wyll  that 
Ale^Tie  have  the  soverayne  charge.     Sir,  quod  they, 


552  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

we  are  well  content,  for  ye  hauve  ryght  well  chosen. 
There  all  the  companyons  made  them  breke  no  poynt 
of  that  ye  have  ordayned  and  commaunded."  LOBD 
Berner's  Froissart. 


Note  Q. 
And  Snowdown's  Knight  is  Scotland's  King.     P.  282. 

This  discovery  will  probably  remind  the  reader 
of  the  beautiful  Arabian  tale  of  i^  Bondocani.  Yet 
the  incident  is  not  borrowed  from  that  elegant  story, 
but  from  Scottish  tradition.  James  V.,  of  whom  we 
are  treating,  was  a  monarch  whose  good  and  benev- 
olent intentions  often  rendered  his  romantic  freaks 
venial,  if  not  respectable,  since,  from  his  anxious 
attention  to  the  interests  of  the  lower  and  most  op- 
pressed class  of  his  subjects,  he  was.  as  we  have  seen, 
popularly  termed  the  King  of  the  Commons.  For  the 
purpose  of  seeing  that  justice  was  regularly  adminis- 
tered, and  frequently  from  the  less  justifiable  motive 
of  gallantry,  he  used  to  traverse  the  vicinage  of  his 
several  palaces  in  various  disguises.  The  two  ex- 
cellent comic  songs,  entitled  "  The  Gaberlunzie  ]\Ian," 
ind  "  We'll  gae  nae  mair  a  roving,"  are  said  to  have 
been  founded  upon  the  success  of  his  amorous  ad*'en- 
tures  when  travelling  in  the  disguise  of  a  beggar. 
Ihe  latter  is  perhaps  the  best  comic  ballad  in  any 
lai\guage. 

Another  adventure,  which  had  nearly  cost  James 
his  hfe,  is  said  to  have  taken  place  at  the  village  of 
Cramond,   near  Edinburgh,  where  he  had  rendered 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  353 

his  addresses  acceptable  to  a  pretty  girl  of  the  lowei 
rank.  Four  or  five  persons,  whether  relations  or 
lovers  of  his  misti-ess  is  uncertain,  beset  the  disguised 
monarch,  as  he  returned  from  his  rendezvous.  Natu- 
rally gallant,  and  an  admirable  master  of  his  weapon, 
the  king  took  post  on  the  high  and  narrow  bridge  over 
the  Almond  River,  and  defended  himself  bravely  with 
his  sword.  A  peasant,  who  was  threshing  in  a  neigh- 
bounng  barn,  came  out  upon  the  noise,  and  whether 
moved  by  compassion  or  by  natural  gallantry,  took  the 
weaker  side,  and  laid  about  with  his  flail  so  effectually, 
as  to  disperse  the  assailants,  well  threshed,  even  ac- 
cording to  the  letter.  He  then  conducted  the  king 
into  his  barn,  where  his  guest  requested  a  basin  and  a 
towel,  to  remove  the  stains  of  the  broil.  This  being 
procured  with  difficulty,  James  employed  himself  in 
learning  what  was  the  summit  of  his  deliverer's 
earthly  wishes,  and  found  that  they  were  bounded 
by  the  desire  of  possessing,  in  property,  the  farm 
of  Braehead,  upon  which  he  labored  as  a  bondsman. 
The  lands  chanced  to  belong  to  the  crown ;  and 
James  directed  him  to  come  to  the  palace  of  Holyrood, 
and  inquire  for  the  Guidman  (/.  e.  farmer)  of  Ballen- 
giech,  a  name  by  which  he  was  known  in  his  excur- 
«ions,  and  which  answered  to  the  II  Bondocani  of 
Haroun  Alraschid.  He  presented  himself  accordingly, 
and  found,  with  due  astonishment,  that  he  hatl  saved 
aia  monarch's  life,  and  that  he  was  to  be  gratified  with 
a  crown-charter  of  the  lands  of  Braehead,  under  the 
aervice  of  presenting  a  ewer,  basin,  and  towel,  for  the 
king  to  wash  his  hands,  when  he  shall  happen  to  pass 
the  Bridge  of  Cramond.  This  person  was  ancestor 
gf  the  Howiesons  of  Braehead,  in  IVlid-Lothian,  a 
23 


854  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

respectable  family,  who  continue  to  hold  the  lands 
(now  passed  into  the  female  line)  under  the  same 
tenure.^ 

Another  of  James's  frolics  is  thus  narrated  by  Mr. 
Campbell  from  the  Statistical  Account :  "  Being  once 
benighted  when  out  a-hunting,  and  separated  from 
his  attendants,  he  happened  to  enter  a  cottage  in  the 
midst  bf  a  moor,  at  the  foot  of  the  Ochil  hills,  near 
Alloa,  where,  unknown,  he  was  kindly  received.  In 
order  to  regale  their  unexpected  guest,  the  yudeynan 
(i.  e.  landlord,  farmer)  desired  the  (judemfe  to  fetch 
the  hen  that  roosted  nearest  the  cock,  which  is  always 
the  plumpest,  for  the  stranger's  supper.  The  king, 
highly  ])leascd  with  his  night's  lodging  and  hospitable 
entertainment,  told  mine  host,  at  parting,  that  he 
should  be  glad  to  return  his  civility,  and  re(iuested 
that  the  first  time  he  came  to  Stirling  he  would  call  at 
the  castle,  and  enquire  for  the  Gudeman  of  Ballen- 
guich.  Donaldson,  the  landlord,  did  not  fail  to  call 
on  the  Gudeman  of  Ballenguich^  when  his  astonish- 
aient  at  finding  that  the  king  had  been  his  guest 
afforded  no  small  amusement  to  the  merry  monarch 
and  his  courtiers ;  and,  to  carry  on  the  pleasantry,  he 
was  thenceforth  designated  by  James  with  the  title 
of  King  of  the  Moors,  which  name  and  designation 
have  descended  from  father  to  son  ever  since,  and 

1  [The  reader  will  find  this  story  told  at  greater  length,  and 
with  the  addition  in  particular  cf  the  king  being  recognized, 
like  the  Fitz-James  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  by  being  the 
only  person  covered,  in  the  First  Series  of  Tales  of  a  Grand 
father,  vol.  iii.  p.  37.  The  heir  of  Braehead  discharged  hii 
duty  at  the  banquet  given  to  King  George  IV.  in  the  Par 
liaraent  House  at  Edinburgh,  in  1822. — Et).] 


LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.  355 

they  have  continued  in  possession  of  the  Identical  spot, 
the  property  of  Mr.  Erskine  of  ^I  ir,  till  very  lattily, 
when  this  gentleman,  with  reluctance,  turned  out  the 
descendant  and  representative  of  the  King  of  the 
Aloors,  on  account  of  his  majesty's  invincible  indolence 
and  great  dislike  to  reform  or  innovation  of  aiy  kind, 
although,  from  the  spirited  example  of  his  neighbour 
tenants  on  the  same  estate,  he  is  convinced  similar 
exertion  would  promote  his  advantage." 

The  author  re(piests  permission  yet  farther  to  verify 
the  subject  of  his  poem,  by  an  extract  from  the 
genealogical  work  of  Buchanan  of  Auchmar,  upon 
Scottish  surnames : — 

"  This  John  Buchanan  of  Auchmar  and  Arnpryor 
was  afterwards  termed  King  of  KIppen,'  upon  the 
following  account:  King  James  V.,  a  very  sociable, 
debonair  prince,  residing  at  Stirling,  in  Buchanan 
of  Arnpryor's  time,  carriers  were  very  frequently 
passing  along  the  common  road,  being  near  Arnpry- 
or's house,  with  necessaries  for  the  use  of  the  king's 
family ;  and  he,  having  some  extraordinary  occasion, 
ordered  one  of  these  earners  to  leave  his  load  at  his 
house,  and  he  would  pay  him  for  it ;  which  the  carrier 
refuse'l  to  do,  telling  him  he  was  the  king's  carrier, 
and  his  load  for  his  majesty's  use  ;  to  which  Arnpryor 
seemed  to  have  small  regard,  compelling  the  carrier, 
in  the  end,  to  leave  his  load ;  telling  him,  if  King 
James  was  King  of  Scotland,  he  was  King  of  Kippen, 
to  that  it  was  reasonable  he  should  share  with  his 
iieighbour  king  in  some  of  these  loads,  so  frequently 
iarried    that  road.      The   carrier   representing    this 

1  A  small  district  of  Perthshire. 


356  APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

usage,  and  telling  the  story,  as  Arnpryor  spoke  it,  to 
Bome  of  the  king's  servants,  it  came  at  length  to  his 
majesty's  ears,  who,  shortly  thereafter,  with  a  few 
attendants,  came  to  visit  his  neighbour  king,  who  was 
in  the  mean  time  at  dinner.  King  James  having  sent 
a  servant  to  demand  access,  was  denied  the  same  by 
a  tall  fellow  with  a  battleaxe,  who  stood  porter  at  tho 
gate,  telling,  there  could  be  no  access  till  dinner  was 
over.  This  answer  not  satisfying  the  king,  he  sent  to 
demand  access  a  second  time  ;  upon  which  he  was 
desired  by  the  porter  to  desist,  otherwise  he  would 
liud  cause  to  repent  his  rudeness.  His  majesty  find- 
ing this  method  would  not  do,  desired  the  porter  to 
tell  his  master  that  the  Goodman  of  Ballageigh  desired 
to  speak  with  the  King  of  Kippen.  The  porter  telling 
Arnpryor  so  much,  he,  in  all  humble  manner,  came 
and  received  the  king,  and  having  entertained  him 
with  much  sumptuousness  and  jollity,  became  so 
agreeable  to  King  James,  that  he  allowed  him  to  take 
60  much  of  any  provision  he  found  carrying  that  road 
as  he  had  occasion  for ;  and  seeing  he  made  the  first 
visit,  desired  Arnpryor  in  a  few  days  to  return  him  a 
second  to  Stirling,  which  he  performed,  and  continued 
in  very  much  favor  with  the  king,  always  thereafter 
being  termed  King  of  Kippen  while  he  lived." — Bu- 
chanan's Essay  upon  the  Family  of  Buchanan. 
Edin.  1775,  8vo.  p.  74. 

The  readei-s  of  Ariosto  must  give  credit  for  the 
Amiable  features  with  which  he  is  represented,  since 
he  is  generally  considered  as  the  prototype  of  Zerbino, 
the  most  interesting  hero  of  the  Orlando  Furioso. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

SIE  WALTER  SCOTT 


VOLUME  IV. 


NOTICE 


Sir  Walter  Scott  commenced  the  composi- 
tion of  RoKEBY  at  Abbotsford,  on  the  loth  of 
September,  1812,  and  finished  it  on  the  last  day 
of  the  followinij  December. 


o 


The  reader  may  be  interested  with  the  follow- 
ing extracts  from  his  letters  to  his  friend  and 
printer,  Mr.  Ballantyne. 

'   Abbotsford,  28th  Oct.  1812. 
"Dear  James, 

*'  I  SEND  you  to-day  better  than  the  third  sheet  of 
Canto  n.,  and  I  trust  to  send  the  other  three  sheeta 
in  the  course  of  the  week.  I  expect  that  you  will 
have  three  cautos  complete  before  I  quit  this  place — 
on  the  11th  of  November.  Surely,  if  you  do  your 
part,  the  poem  may  be  out  by  Chi-istmas ;  but  you 
must  not  daudle  over  your  tj-pographical  scruples.  I 
have  too  much  respect  for  the  public  to  neglect  any 
thing  in  my  poem  to  attract  their  attention ;  and  you 
misunderstood  me  much,  when  you  supposed  that  1 
designed  any  new  experiments  in  point  of  composition. 
I  only  meant  to  say,  that  knowing  well  that  the  said 

VOL.  IV.  1 


Z  NOTICE. 

public  will  never  be  pleased  witli  exactlj  the  same 
thing  a  second  time,  I  saw  the  necessity  of  giving  a 
certain  degree  of  novelt}^  by  throwing  the  interest 
more  on  character  than  in  my  former  poems,  without 
certainly  meaning  to  exclude  either  incident  or  descrip- 
tion. I  think  you  will  see  the  same  sort  of  difference 
taken  in  all  my  former  poems,  of  which  I  would  say, 
if  it  is  fair  for  me  to  say  any  thing,  that  the  force  lq 
the  Lay  is  thrown  on  style, — in  Marmiou,  on  descrip- 
tion,— and  in  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  on  incident" 

Zd  November. — "  As  for  my  story,  the  conduct  of 
the  plot,  which  must  be  made  natural  and  easy,  pre- 
vents my  introducing  any  thing  light  for  some  time. 
You  must  advert,  that  in  order  to  give  poetical  effect 
to  any  incident,  I  am  often  obliged  to  be  much  longer 
than  I  expected  in  the  detail.  You  are  too  much  like 
the  country  squire  in  the  what  d'ye  call  it,  who  com- 
mands that  the  play  should  not  only  be  a  tragedy  and 
comedy,  but  that  it  should  be  crowned  with  a  spice  of 
your  pastoral.  As  for  what  is  popular,  and  what  people 
like,  and  so  forth,  it  is  all  a  joke.  Be  interesting  ;  do 
the  thing  well,  and  the  only  difference  will  be,  that 
people  will  like  what  they  never  Uked  before,  and  will 
like  it  so  much  the  better  for  the  novelty  of  their  feel- 
ings towards  it.  Dulness  and  tameness  are  the  only 
iiTeparable  faults." 

December  Zlst. — "  With  kindest  wishes  on  the  re- 
turn of  the  season,  I  send  you  the  last  of  the  copy  of 
Rokeby.  If  you  are  not  engaged  at  home,  and  like  to 
3all  in,  we  will  drink  good  luck  to  it ;  but  do  not  de- 
range a  family  party. 


NOTICE.  3 

"  There  is  something  odd  and  melancholy  in  con- 
cluding a  poem  with  the  year,  and  I  could  be  almost 
Billy  and  sentimental  about  it.  I  hope  you  think  I 
have  done  my  best  I  assure  you  of  my  wishes  the 
work  may  succeed ;  and  my  exertions  to  get  out  in 
time  were  more  inspired  by  your  interest  and  John'S; 
fliac  my  own.     And  so  vogue  la  galere.       "  W.  S." 

LOCKHAKT. 


INTRODUCTION 


ROKEBY. 


INTRODUCTION 


TO 


ROKEBT, 


Between  the  publication  of  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  which  was  so  eminently  successful,  and 
that  of"  Rokeby,"  in  1813,  three  years  had  inter- 
vened. I  shall  not,  I  believe,  be  accused  of  ever 
having  attempted  to  usurp  a  superiority  over  many 
men  of  genius,  my  contempomries  ;  but,  in  point 
of  popularity,  not  of  actual  talent,  the  caprice  of 
the  public  had  certainly  given  me  such  a  tempo- 
rary superiority  over  men,  of  whom,  in  regard  to 
poetical  fancy  and  feeling,  I  scarcely  thought  my- 
self worthy  to  loose  the  shoe-latch.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  would  be  absurd  affectation  in  me  to 
deny,  that  I  conceived  myself  to  understand,  more 
perfectly  tlian  many  of  my  contemporaries,  the 
manner  most  likely  to  intei-est  the  great  mass  of 
mankind.       Yet,  even   witli    this  belief,   1    must 


8  INTEODUCTION    TO    ROKEBY. 

truly  and  fairly  say,  that  I   always   considered 
myself  rather  as  one  who  held  the  bets,  in  time 
to  be  paid  over  to  the  winner,  than  as  having  any 
pretence  to  keep  them  in  my  own  right. 

In  the  mean  time  years  crept  on,  and  not  with- 
out their  usual  depredations  on  the  passing  gener- 
ation. My  sons  had  arrived  at  the  age  when  the 
paternal  home  was  no  longer  their  best  abode,  as 
both  were  destined  to  active  life.  The  field-sports, 
to  which  I  was  peculiarly  attached,  had  now  less 
interest,  and  were  replaced  by  other  amusements 
of  a  more  quiet  character;  and  the  means  and 
opportunity  of  pursuing  these  were  to  be  sought 
for.  I  had,  indeed,  for  some  years  attended  to 
fanning,  a  knowledge  of  which  is,  or  at  least  was 
then,  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of  a  family 
residing  in  a  solitary  country-house  ;  but  although 
this  was  the  favourite  amusement  of  many  of  my 
friends,  I  have  never  been  able  to  consider  it  as 
a  source  of  pleasure.  I  never  conld  think  it  a 
matter  of  passing  importance,  that  my  cattle,  or 
crops,  -were  better  or  more  plentiful  than  those  of 
my  neighbours  ;  and  nevertheless  I  began  to  feel 
the  necessity  of  some  more  quiet  out-door  occupa- 
tion, different  from  those  I  had  hitherto  pursued. 
I  purchased  a  small  farm  of  about  100  acres,  with 
the  purpose  of  planting  and  improving  it,  to  which 
property  circumstances  afterwards  enabled  me  to 
make  considerable  additions;  and  thus  an  era  took 
place    in  my  life,  ahnosl   equal   to  the   important 


INTRODUCTION    TO    KOKEBT.  9 

one  mentioned  by  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  when 
he  removed  from  the  Blue-room  to  the  Brown. 
In  point  of  neighbourhood,  at  least,  the  change  of 
residence  made  little  more  difference.  Abbots- 
ford,  to  which  we  removed,  was  only  six  or  seven 
miles  down  the  Tweed,  and  lay  on  the  same  beau- 
tiful stream.  It  did  not  possess  the  romantic 
character  of  Ashestiel,  my  foniier  residence ;  but 
it  had  a  stretch  of  meadow-land  along  the  river, 
and  possessed,  in  the  phrase  of  the  landscape- 
gardener,  considerable  capabilities.  Above  all, 
the  land  was  my  own,  like  Uncle  Toby's  Bowling- 
green,  to  do  what  I  would  with.  It  had  been, 
though  the  gratification  was  long  postponed,  an 
early  wish  of  mine  to  connect  myself  with  my 
mother  earth,  and  prosecute  those  experiments 
by  which  a  species  of  creative  power  is  exercised 
over  the  face  of  nature.  I  can  trace,  even  to 
childhood,  a  pleasure  derived  from  Dodsley's  ac- 
count of  Shenstone's  Leasowes,  and  I  envied  the 
poet  much  more  for  the  pleasure  of  accomplishing 
the  objects  detailed  in  his  friend's  sketch  of  his 
grounds,  than  for  the  possession  of  pipe,  crook, 
flock,  and  Phillis  to  boot.  My  memory,  also, 
tenacious  of  quaint  expressions,  still  retained  a 
phrase  which  it  had  gathered  from  an  old  alma- 
nac of  Charles  the  Second's  time,  (when  every 
Jiing  down  to  almanacs  affected  to  be  smart,)  in 
which  the  reader,  in  the  month  of  June,  is  advised 
for  health's  sake  to  walk  a  mile  or  two  every  day 


10  INTRODUCTION   TO    EOKEBY. 

before  breakfast,  and,  if  he  can  possibly  so  manage, 
to  let  his  exercise  be  taken  upon  his  own  land. 

With  the  satisfaction  of  having  attained  the 
fulfilment  of  an  early  and  long-cherished  hope,  I 
commenced  my  improvements,  as  delightful  in 
their  progress  as  those  of  the  child  who  first  makes 
a  dress  for  a  new  doll.  The  nakedness  of  the 
land  was  in  time  hidden  by  woodlands  of  consid- 
erable extent — the  smallest  of  possible  cottages 
was  progressively  expanded  into  a  sort  of  dream 
of  a  mansion-house,  whimsical  in  the  exterior,  but 
convenient  within.  Nor  did  I  forget  what  is  the 
natural  pleasure  of  every  man  who  has  been  a 
reader,  I  mean  the  filling  the  shelves  of  a  tolera- 
bly large  library.  All  these  objects  I  kept  in 
view,  to  be  executed  as  convenience  should  serve ; 
and,  although  I  knew  many  years  must  elapse 
before  they  could  be  attained,  I  was  of  a  disposi- 
tion to  comfort  myself  with  the  Spanish  proverb, 
*'  Time  and  I  against  any  two." 

The  difficult  and  indispensable  point,  of  finding 
a  permanent  subject  of  occupation,  was  now  at 
length  attained ;  but  there  was  annexed  to  it  the 
necessity  of  becoming  again  a  candidate  for  public 
favour ;  for,  as  I  was  turned  improver  on  the  earth 
of  the  every-day  world,  it  was  under  condition 
that  the  small  tenement  of  Parnassus,  which  might 
be  accessible  to  my  labours,  should  not  remain 
oncultivated. 
I  meditated,  at  first,  a  poem  on  the  subject  of 


INTRODUCTTON    TO    ROKEBr.  11 

Bruce,  in  which  I  made  some  progress,  but  after- 
«rards  judged  it  advisable  to  lay  it  aside,  supposing 
that  an  English  story  might  have  more  novelty; 
in  consequence,  the  precedence  was  given  to 
"  Rokeby." 

If  subject  and  scenery  could  have  influenced 
the  fate  of  a  poem,  that  of  "  Rokeby  "  should  have 
been  eminently  distinguished ;  for  the  grounds 
belonged  to  a  dear  friend,  with  whom  I  had  lived 
in  habits  of  intimacy  for  many  years,  and  the 
place  itself  united  the  romantic  beauties  of  the 
wilds  of  Scotland  with  the  rich  and  smiling  aspect 
of  the  southern  portion  of  the  island.  But  the 
Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  whom  I  attempted  to 
summon  up  to  tenant  this  beautiful  region,  had 
for  the  public  neither  the  novelty  nor  the  peculiar 
interest  of  the  primitive  Highlanders.  This,  per- 
haps, was  scarcely  to  be  expected,  considering 
that  the  general  mind  sympathizes  readily  and  at 
once  with  the  stamp  which  nature  herself  has 
affixed  upon  the  manners  of  a  peo^jle  hving  in  a 
simple  and  patriarchal  state  ;  whereas  it  has  more 
difficulty  in  understanding  or  interesting  itself  in 
manners  founded  upon  those  pecuhar  habits  of 
thinking  or  acting,  which  are  produced  by  the 
progress  of  society.  We  could  read  with  pleasure 
I  he  tale  of  the  adventures  of  a  Cossack  or  a  Mon- 
gol Tartar,  while  we  only  wonder  and  stare  ovei 
those  of  the  lovers  in  the  "  Pleasing  Chinese  His- 
tory," where  the  embariassments  turn  upon  diffi- 


12  INTRODUCTION    TO    ROKEBY. 

culties  arising  out  of  unintelligible  delicacies  pe« 
culiar  to  the  customs  and  manners  of  that  affected 
people. 

The  cause  of  my  failure  had,  however  a  far 
deeper  root.  The  manner,  or  style,  which,  by  ita 
novelty,  attracted  the  public  in  an  unusual  degree, 
had  now,  after  having  been  three  times  before 
them,  exhausted  the  patience  of  the  reader,  and 
began  in  the  fourth  to  lose  its  charms.  The  re- 
viewers may  be  said  to  have  apostrophized  the 
author  in  the  language  of  ParneU's  Edwin  : — 

"  And  here  reverse  the  charm,  he  cries, 
And  let  it  fairly  now  suffice, 
The  gambol  has  been  shown." 

The  licentious  combination  of  rhymes,  in  a 
manner  not  perhaps  very  congenial  to  our  lan- 
guage, had  not  been  confined  to  the  author.  In- 
deed, in  most  similar  cases,  the  inventors  of  such 
novelties  have  their  reputation  destroyed  by  their 
own  imitators,  as  Actoeon  fell  under  the  fury  of 
his  own  dogs.  The  present  author,  like  Bobadil, 
had  taught  his  trick  of  fence  to  a  hundred  gentle- 
men, (and  ladies,^)  who  could  fence  very  nearly, 

4 

1  ["  Scott  found  peculiar  favour  and  imitation  among  the 
fair  sex:  there  was  Miss  HalforcL  and  Miss  Mitford,  and  Miss 
Francis:  but,  with  the  greatest  respect  be  it  spoken,  none  of 
his  imitators  did  much  honour  to  the  original,  except  Hogg, 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  until  the  appearance  of  *  The  Brida) 
of  Tr.eruiain  '  and  *  Harold   the  Dauntless,'  which,   in   th« 


INTRODUCTION    TO    ROKEBT.  13 

or  quite,  as  well  as  himself.  For  this  there  was 
no  remedy;  the  harmony  became  tiresome  and 
ordinary,  and  both  the  original  inventor  and  his 
invention  must  have  fallen  into  contempt,  if  he 
had  not  found  out  another  road  to  public  favour. 
What  has  been  said  of  the  metre  only,  must  be 
nonsidered  to  apply  equally  to  the  structure  of  the 
Poem  and  of  the  style.  The  very  best  passages 
of  any  popular  style  are  not,  perhaps,  susceptible 
of  imitation,  but  they  may  be  approached  by  men 
of  talent ;  and  those  who  are  less  able  to  copy 
them,  at  least  lay  hold  of  their  peculiar  features, 
so  as  to  produce  a  strong  burlesque.  In  either 
way,  the  effect  of  the  manner  is  rendered  cheap 
and  common ;  and,  in  the  latter  case,  ridiculous 
to  boot.  The  evil  consequences  to  an  author's 
reputation  are  at  least  as  fatal  as  those  which 
come  upon  the  musical  composer,  when  his  melody 
falls  into  the  hands  of  the  street  ballad-singer. 

Of  the  unfavourable  species  of  imitation,  the 
author's  style  gave  room  to  a  very  large  number, 
owing  to  an  appearance  of  facility  to  which  some 
of  those  who  used  the  measure  unquestionably 
leaned  too  far.  The  effect  of  the  more  favourable 
imitations,  composed  by  persons  of  talent,  was 
almost  equally  unfortunate  to  the  original  minstrel, 
by  showing  that  they  could  overshoot  him  with  his 

opinion  of  some,  eciualleU,  if  not  surpassed,  him;  and  lo! 
ufter  three  or  four  years,  they  turned  out  to  be  the  Muster's 
own  compositiosn." — Rybojj's  IVvrks,  vol.  xv.  p.  96. 


14  INTBODUCTION    TO   ROKEBT. 

own  bow.  In  short,  the  popularity  which  once 
attended  the  School,  as  it  was  called,  was  now  fast 
decaying. 

Besides  all  this,  to  have  kept  his  ground  at  the 
crisis  when  "  Rokeby  "  appeared,  its  author  ought 
to  have  put  forth  his  utmost  strength,  and  to  have 
possessed  at  least  all  his  original  advantages,  for 
a  mighty  and  unexpected  rival  was  advancing  on 
the  stage — a  rival  not  in  poetical  powers  only,  but 
in  that  art  of  attracting  popularity,  in  which  the 
present  writer  had  hitherto  preceded  better  men 
than  himself.  The  reader  will  easily  see  that 
Byron  is  here  meant,  who,  after  a  little  velitation 
of  no  great  promise,  now  appeared  as  a  serious 
candidate,  in  the  "  First  two  Cantos  of  Cliilde 
Harold."  ^  I  was  astonished  at  the  power  evinced 
by  that  work,  which  neither  the  "  Hours  of  Idle- 
ness," nor  the  "  English  Bai'ds  and  Scotch  Review- 
ers," had  prepared  me  to  expect  from  its  author. 
There  was  a  depth  in  liis  thought,  an  eager  abun- 
dance in  his  diction,  which  argued  full  confidence 

1  ["  These  two  Cantos  vrere  published  in  London  in  March 
1812,  and  immediately  placed  their  author  on  a  level  with  the 
very  highest  names  of  his  age.  The  impression  they  created 
was  more  uniform,  decisive,  and  triumphant,  than  any  that 
iiftd  been  witnessed  in  this  country  for  at  least  two  genera- 
tions. '  I  awoke  one  morning,'  he  says,  '  and  found  myself 
famous.'  In  truth,  he  had  fixed  himself,  at  a  single  bound, 
on  a  summit,  such  as  no  English  poet  had  ever  before  at- 
tained, but  after  a  long  succession  of  painful  and  com  para- 
lively  neglected  etibrts." — Advertisement  to  Byron's  Li/e  and 
Woi-ks,  vol  viii.] 


INTRODUCTION    TO    RO.tEBY.  15 

n  the  inexhaustible  resources  of  which  he  felt 
himself  possessed ;  and  there  was  some  appear- 
ance of  that  labour  of  the  file,  which  indicates  that 
the  author  is  conscious  of  the  necessity  of  doing 
every  justice  to  his  work,  that  it  may  pass  war- 
rant. Lord  Byron  was  also  a  traveller,  a  man 
whose  ideas  were  fired  by  having  seen,  in  distant 
scenes  of  difficulty  and  danger,  the  places  whose 
very  names  are  recorded  in  our  bosoms  as  the 
shrines  of  ancient  poetry.  For  his  own  misfor- 
tune, perhaps,  but  certainly  to  the  high  increase  of 
his  poetical  character,  nature  had  mixed  in  Lord 
Byron's  system  those  passions  which  agitate  the 
human  heart  with  most  violence,  and  which  may 
be  said  to  have  hurried  his  bright  career  to  an 
early  close.  There  would  have  been  little  wisdom 
in  measuring  my  force  with  so  formidable  an  an- 
tagonist, and  I  was  as  likely  to  tire  of  prlaying  the 
second  fiddle  in  the  concert,  as  my  audience  of 
hearing  me.  Age  also  was  advancing.  I  was 
growing  insensible  to  those  subjects  of  excitation 
by  which  youth  is  agitated.  I  had  around  me  the 
most  pleasant  but  least  exciting  of  all  society,  that 
of  kind  friends  and  an  affectionate  family.  My 
cii-cle  of  employments  was  a  narrow  one  ;  it  occu- 
pied me  constantly,  and  it  became  daily  more 
difficult  for  me  to  interest  myself  in  poetical  com- 
Dosition : — 

"  How  happily  the  days  of  Thalaba  went  by!  " 

Yet  though  conscious  that  I  must  be,  in  the 


16  INTRODUCTION   TO    ROKEBT. 

opinion  of  good  judges,  inferior  to  the  place  I  liad 
for  four  or  five  years  held  in  letters,  and  feeling 
alike  that  the  latter  was  one  to  which  I  had  only 
a  temporary  right,  I  could  not  brook  the  idea  of 
relinquishing  literaiy  occupation,  which  had  been 
so  long  my  chief  diversion.  Neither  was  I  dis- 
posed to  choose  the  alternative  of  sinking  into  a 
mere  editor  and  commentator,  though  that  was  a 
species  of  labour  which  I  had  practised,  and  to 
which  I  was  attached.  But  I  could  not  endure 
to  think  that  I  might  not,  whether  known  or  con- 
cealed, do  something  of  more  importance.  My 
inmost  thoughts  were  those  of  the  Trojan  Captain 
in  the  galley  race, — 

•*  Non  jam  prima  peto  Mnestheus,  neque  vincere  certo; 
Quanquam  0! — sed  superent,  quibus  hoc,  Neptune,  dedisti: 
Extremes  pudeat  rediisse :  hoc  vincite,  cives, 
Et  prohibete  nefas."  '— uEn.  lib.  v.  194. 

I  had,  indeed,  some  private  reasons  for  my 
"  Quanquam  0 ! "  which  were  not  worse  than 
those  of  Mnestheus.  I  have  ah-eady  hinted  that 
the  materials  were  collected  for  a  poem  on  the 
subject  of  Bruce,  and  fragments  of  it  had  been 

1  ["  I  seek  not  now  the  foremost  palm  to  gain; 
Though  yet— but  ah!  that  haughty  wish  is  vain  I 
Let  those  enjoy  it  whom  the  gods  ordain. 
But  to  be  last,  the  lags  of  all  the  race ! — 
Redeem  yourselves  and  me  from  that  disgrace." 

Dbtdjcn.] 


xNTRODUCTlON    TO    ROKEBT.  17 

Bhown  to  some  of  my  friends,  and  received  with 
applause.  Notwithstanding,  therefore,  the  emi- 
nent success  of  Byron,  and  the  great  chance  of 
his  taking  the  wind  out  of  my  sails,^  there  was,  I 
judged,  a  species  of  cowardice  in  desisting  from 
the  task  which  I  had  undertaken,  and  it  was  time 
enough  to  retreat  when  the  battle  should  be  more 
decidedly  lost.  The  sale  of  "  Rokeby,"  exceptmg 
as  compared  with  that  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake," 
was  in  the  highest  degree  respectable ;  and  as  it 
included  fifteen  hundred  quartos,^  in  those  quarto 
reading  days,  the  trade  had  no  reason  to  be  dis 
satisfied. 

W.  S. 

Abbotsfobd,  Ap'il,  1830. 

1  ["  George  Ellis  and  Murray  nave  been  talking  something 
alxDut  Scott  and  me,  George  pro  Scoto, — and  very  right  too. 
If  they  want  to  depose  him  I  only  wish  they  would  not  set 
me  up  as  a  competitor.  I  like  the  man — and  admire  hia 
works  to  what  Mr.  Braham  calls  Entusymusy.  All  such  stuflF 
can  only  vex  him,  and  do  me  no  good." — Byron's  Diary, 
Nov.  1813—  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  259.] 

2  [The  4to  Edition  was  published  in  January,  1813.  J 


VOL.  rv. 


ROKEBY; 

A   POEM. 
ifs  SIX  CAirros. 


JOHN   B.   S.   MORRITT,  ESQ. 

THIS    POEM, 

IHB     8CEKK    OF   WHICH     IS     LAID     IN     HIS     BEAUTIFUL 
DEMESNE    OF 


ROKEBY, 


IS    IXSCBIBED, 


IM    TOKEN   OF   SINCERE   FRIENDSHIP, 


WALTER   SCOTT. 


I  [Dec.  31,  Ii5l2.j 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


llie  scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  at  Rol'ebi/,  near  Greta 
Biidge,  in  Yorkshire j  and  shifts  to  the  adjacent  fortress 
of  Barnard  Caslle,  and  to  other  places  in  that  vicin- 
ity. 

The  time  occupied  hy  the  action  is  a  space  of  five 
days  J  three  of  which  are  supposed  to  elapse  between 
the  end  of  the  Fifth  and  beginning  of  the  Sixth  Canto. 

The  date  of  the  supposed  events  is  immediately  subse' 
quent  to  the  great  Battle  of  Marston  Moor,  Sd  July 
1644.  This  period  of  public  confusion  ha^  been  chosen, 
tvithout  any  purpose  of  combining  the  Fable  with  the 
military  or  political  events  of  the  Civil  War.  but  only 
as  affording  a  degree  of  probability  to  the  fictitious 
narrative  now  presented  to  the  public.^ 

1  ["  Behold  another  lay  from  the  harp  of  that  indefatigable 
minstrel,  who  has  so  often  provoked  the  censure  and  extorted 
the  admiration  of  his  critics ;  and  who,  regardless  of  both, 
and  following  every  impulse  of  his  own  inclination,  has  yet 
raised  himself  at  once,  and  apparently  with  little  effort,  to 
the  pinnacle  of  public  favour. 

"  A  poem  thus  recommended  may  be  presumed  to  have 
already  reached  the  whole  circle  of  our  readers,  and  we 
believe  that  all  those  readers  will  concur  with  us  in  consider- 
ing Bokeby  as  a  conop.fition,  which,  if  it  had   preceded, 


24  ADVERTISEMENT. 

instead  of  following,  Marmion,  and  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
would  have  contribiated,  as  effectually  as  they  have  done,  to 
the  establishment  of  'Mr.  Scott's  high  reputation.  Whether, 
timed  as  it  now  is,  it  be  likely  to  satisfy  the  just  expectations 
which  that  reputation  has  excited,  is  a  question  which,  per- 
haps, will  not  be  decided  with  the  same  unanimity.  Our 
own  opinion  is  in  the  affirmative,  but  we  confess  that  this  is 
our  revised  opinion ;  and  that  when  we  concluded  our  first 
perusal  of  Rokeby,  our  grj^tification  was  not  quite  unmixed 
with  disappointment.  The  reflections  by  which  this  impres- 
Bion  has  been  subsequently  modified,  arise  out  of  our  general 
view  of  the  poem ;  of  the  interest  inspired  by  the  fable ;  of 
the  masterly  delineations  of  the  characters  by  whose  agency 
the  plot  is  unravelled;  and  of  the  spirited  nervous  concise- 
ness of  the  narrative." —  Quarterly  Eeview,  No.  xvi.] 


ROKEBI 


CANTO   FIB8T. 


ROKEBY 


CANTO   FIRST. 


I. 

The  Moon  is  in  her  summer  glow, 
But  hoarse  and  high  the  breezes  blow, 
And,  racking  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 
Varies  the  tincture  of  her  shroud ; 
On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees*s  stream,' 
She  changes  as  a  guilty  dream, 
When  Conscience,  with  remorse  and  fear, 
Groads  sleeping  Fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seems  now  the  blush  of  shame. 
Seems  now  fierce  anger's  darker  flame, 
Shifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go, 
Like  apprehension's  hurried  glow  ; 
Then  sorrow's  livery  dims  the  air. 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees. 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  A.] 


28  ROKEBT.  [CAKTO  L 

Then  from  old  Baliol's  tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north, 
Hears,  upon  tuiTet-roof  and  wall, 
By  fits  the  plasliing  rain-drop  fall,* 
Lists  to  the  breeze's  boding  sound, 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 

II. 
Those  towers,  which  in  the  changeful  gleam  ■ 
Throw  murky  shadows  on  the  stream. 
Those  towers  of  Bai'nard  hold  a  guest, 
The  emotions  of  whose  troubled  breast, 
In  wild  and  strange  confusion  driven, 
Rival  the  flitting  rack  of  heaven. 
Ere  sleep  stern  Oswald's  senses  tied. 
Oft  had  he  changed  his  weary  side. 
Composed  his  limbs,  and  vainly  sought 
By  effort  strong  to  banish  thought. 
Sleep  came  at  length,  but  with  a  train 
Of  feelings  true  *  and  fancies  vain, 
JMingling,  in  wild  disorder  cast. 
The  expected  future  with  the  past. 
Conscience,  anticipating  time, 
Already  rues  the  unacted  crime, 
And  calls  her  furies  forth,  to  shake 
The  sounding  scourge  and  liissing  snake ; 


1  [This  couplet  is  not  in  the  Original  MS.] 

a  [MS. ''shifting  gleam."] 

«  [MS.—"  Of  feelings  reaZ,  and  fancies  vain."] 


CA5TO  L]  EOKEBT.  29 

While  her  poor  victim's  outward  throes 
Bear  witness  to  his  mental  woes, 
And  show  what  lesson  may  be  read 
Beside  a  sinner's  restless  bed- 
in. 
Thus  Oswald's  labouring  feelings  trace 
Strange  changes  in  his  sleeping  face, 
Eapid  and  ominous  as  these 
With  which  the  moonbeams  tinge  the  Teea 
There  might  be  seen  of  shame  the  blush. 
There  anger's  dai-k  and  fiercer  flush, 
While  the  perturbed  sleeper's  hand 
Seem'd  grasping  dagger-knife,  or  brand. 
Relax'd  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh. 
The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye, 
The  pallid  cheek  and  brow,  confessed 
That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast ; 
Nor  paused  that  mood — a  sudden  start 
Impell'd  the  life-blood  from  the  heart : 
Features  convulsed,  and  mutterings  dread. 
Show  terror  reigns  in  sorroVs  stead. 
That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke,* 
And  Oswald  with  a  start  awoke.'' 

i  [MS. — "  Nor  longer  nature  bears  the  shock, 

That  pang  the  slumberer  awoke."] 
*  [There  appears  some  resemblance  betwixt  the  visiona  of 
Ub^'ald's  sleep  and  the  waking  dream  of  the  Giaoar: — 
"  He  stood. — Some  dread  was  on  his  face, 
Soon  Hatred  settled  in  its  place ; 


30  EOKEBY.  [CANTO 

IV. 

He  woke,  and  fear'd  again  to  close 
His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose  ; 
He  woke, — to  watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 
From  hour  to  hour  the  castle-belL 
Or  listen  to  the  owlet's  cry. 
Or  the  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by, 
Or  catch,  by  fits,  the  tuneless  rhyme 
With  which  the  warder  cheats  the  time, 
And  env'ying  think,  how,  when  the  sun 
Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done, 
Couch'd  on  his  straw,  and  fancy-free. 
He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

It  rose  not  with  the  reddening  flush 

Of  transient  Anger's  hasty  blush, 

But  pale  as  marble  o'er  the  tomb, 

Whose  ghastly  whiteness  aids  its  gloom. 

His  brow  was  bent,  his  eye  was  glazed ; 

He  raised  his  arm,  and  fiercely  raised, 

And  sternly  shook  his  hand  on  high. 

As  doubting  to  return  or  fly ; 

impatient  of  his  flight  delay'd, 

Here  loud  his  raven  charger  neigh'd — 

Down  glanced  that  hand,  and  grasp'd  his  blade; 

That  sound  had  burst  his  waking  dream, 

As  slumber  starts  at  owlet's  scream. 

The  spur  hath  lanced  his  courser's  sides; 

Away,  away,  for  Ufe  he  rides. 

'Twas  but  a  moment  that  he  stood. 

Then  sped  as  if  by  death  pursued, 

But  in  that  instant  o'er  his  soul, 

Winters  of  memory  seem'd  to  roll. 

And  gather  in  that  drop  of  time, 

A  life  of  pain,  an  age  of  crime." 

Byron's  Woiks,  vol.  v.  p.  20.] 


tAKtO  l]  rokebt.  31 

V. 

Far  townward  sounds  a  distant  tread, 
And  Oswald,  starting  from  his  bed. 
Hath  caught  it,  though  no  human  ear, 
Unsharpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear. 
Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank, 
Until  ii  reach'd  the  castle  bank.^ 
Now  nigh  and  plain  the  sound  appears, 
The  wai'der's  challenge  now  he  hears,^ 

1  [MS. — ^"  Tin  underneath  the  castle  bank. 

Nigh  and  more  niyh  the  sound  appears, 
The  warder's  challenge  next  he  hears."] 

2  I  have  had  occasion  to  remark,  in  real  life,  the  effect  of 
keen  and  fer\'ent  anxiety  in  giving  acuteness  to  the  organs 
of  sense.  My  gifted  friend.  Miss  Joanna  Baillie,  whose  dra- 
matic works  display  such  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
operations  of  human  passion,  has  not  omitted  this  remarkable 
circumstance  (De  Montfort,  A.  3,  Se.  2.):  — 

'' De  MuntforU    {  Of  his  guard,)    'Tis  Rezenvelt:  1  heard 
his  well-known  foot, 
From  the  first  staircase  mounting  step  by  step. 
Freb.     How  quick  an  ear  thou  hast  for  distant  sound! 
heard  him  not. 

[Be  Montfort  looks  embarrassed^  and  is  silent." 

["  The  natural  superiority  of  the  instniment  over  the  em- 
p. oyer,  of  bold,  unhesitating,  practised  vice,  over  timid,  sel- 
fish, crafty  iniquity,  is  verj"  finely  painted  throughout  tbe 
whole  of  this  scene,  and  the  dialogue  that  ensues.  That  the 
mind  of  Wyciiffe,  wrought  to  the  utmost  agony  of  suspense, 
has  given  such  acuteness  to  his  bodily  organs,  as  to  enable 
bim  to  distinguish  the  approach  of  his  hired  bravo,  while  at 
&  distance  beyond  the  reach  of  common  hearing,  is  grandly 
hnagined,  and  admirably  true  to  nature." — Critical  Revieto.] 


52  ROKEBT.  [CANTO  I. 

Then  clanking  chains  and  levers  tell, 
That  o'er  the  moat  the  drawbridge  fell. 
And,  in  the  castle  court  below, 
Voices  are  heard,  and  torches  glow, 
As  marshalling  the  stranger's  way. 
Straight  for  the  room  where  Oswald  lay 
The  cry  was, — "  Tidings  from  the  host,* 
Of  weight — a  messenger  comes  post." 
Stifling  the  tumult  of  his  breast. 
His  answer  Oswald  thus  express'd — 
"  Bring  food  and  wine,  and  trim  the  fire  ; 
Admit  the  stranger,  and  retire." 

VI. 

The  stranger  came  with  heavy  stride,^ 
The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide. 
And  the  buff-coat,  an  ample  fold, 
Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould.* 
Full  slender  answer  deigned  he 
To  Oswald's  anxious  courtesy. 
But  mark'd,  by  a  disdainful  smile. 
He  saw  and  scorn'd  the  petty  wile, 


*  [MS. — "  The  cry  was, — '  Heringham  comes  poet, 
"With  tidings  of  a  battle  lost.* 
As  one  that  roused  himself  from  rest, 
His  answer,"  &c.] 

a  [MS. ^"  with  heavy  pace, 

The  plumed  morion  hid  his  face."] 

«  [See  Appendix,  Note  B.] 


rA5TO  I.]  ROKEBY.  33 

When  Oswald  changed  the  torch's  place* 
Anxious  that  on  the  soldier's  face  * 
Its  partial  lustre  might  be  thrown, 
To  show  his  looks,  yet  hide  his  own. 
His  guest,  the  while,  laid  slow  aside 
The  ponderous  cloak  of  tough  bull's  hide, 
And  to  the  torch  glanced  broad  and  clear 
The  corselet  of  a  cuirassier ; 
Then  from  his  brows  the  casque  he  drew, 
And  from  the  dank  plume  dash'd  the  dew, 
From  gloves  of  mail  reHeved  his  hands,^ 
And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  brands. 
And,  turning  to  the  genial  board,* 
Without  a  health,  or  pledge,  or  word 
Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said, 
Deeply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed  ;  * 
As  free  from  cereraonx's  sway. 
As  famish'd  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

Vll. 

With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 
His  host  beheld  him  gorge  his  cheer, 

1  [MS. — "  That  fell  upon  tlie  stranger's  face.*'] 

2  [MS. "he/reeJhis  hana>.-] 

*  [MS. — "  Then  turn'd  to  the  replenish'd  board."] 

*  [''  The  description  of  Bertram  which  follows,  is  highly 
picturesque;  and  the  rude  air  of  conscious  superiority  with 
which  he  treats  his  employer,  prepares  the  reader  to  enter  into 
the  full  spirit  of  his  character.  Th-'se,  and  many  other  little 
circumstances  which  none  but  a  poetical  mind  could  have 
conceived,  give  great  relief  to  the  stronger  touches  with  which 
this  excellent  sketch  is  completed."—  Critical  Review.} 

VOL.    IV.  3 


34  ROKEBT.  [canto  I. 

And  quaff  the  full  carouse,  that  lent 
His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Now  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 
Now  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride. 
In  feverish  agony  to  learn 
Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 
Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Protracted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast,^ 
Yet,  viewing  with  alarm,  at  last, 
The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast, 
Almost  he  seem'd  their  haste  to  rue, 
As,  at  his  sign,  his  train  withdrew. 
And  left  him  with  the  stranger,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 
A  struffsle  between  fear  and  shame. 

VIII. 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears, 
To  justify  suspicious  fears. 
On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime, 
And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time, 
Roughen'd  the  brow,  the  temples  bared. 
And  sable  hairs  with  silver  shared, 
Yet  left — what  age  alone  could  tame — 
The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame  ;  ^ 

1  [MS. — "  Protracted  o'er  his  savage  feast, 

Yet  with  alarm  he  saw  at  last."] 

2  ["  As  Roderick  rises  above  Marraion,  so  Bertram  ascends 
above  Roderick  Dhu  in  awfulness  of  stature  and  streno-th  of 


CAXTO  l]  ROKEBY.  35 

The  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  curl'd, 
The  eye,  that  seem'd  to  scorn  the  world. 
That  lip  had  terror  never  blench'd  ; 
Ne'er  in  that  eye  had  tear-drop  quench'd 
The  flash  severe  of  swarthy  glow, 
Tliat  mock'd  at  pain,  and  knew  not  woe. 
Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 
Tornade  and  earthquake,  flood  and  storm, 
Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 
By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow,* 


solouring.     We  have  trembled  at  Roderick;  but  we  look  with 

doubt  and  suspicion  at  the  very  shadow  of  Bertram — and,  as 

we  approach  him,  we  shrink  with  teiTor  and  antipathy  from 

'  The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame.' 

British  Critical 
1  In  this  character,  I  have  attempted  to  sketch  one  of  those 
West-Indian  adventurers,  who,  during  the  course  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  were  popularly  known  by  the  name  of 
Buccaneers.  The  successes  of  the  English  in  the  predatory 
incursions  upon  Spanish  America,  during  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, had  never  been  forgotten;  and,  from  that  period  down- 
ward, the  exploits  of  Drake  and  Raleigh  were  imitated,  upon 
a  smaller  scale  indeed,  but  with  equally  desperate  valour,  by 
small  bands  of  pirates,  gathered  from  all  nations,  but  chiefly 
French  and  English.  The  engrossing  policy  of  the  Spaniarda 
tended  greatly  to  increase  the  number  of  these  freebooters, 
Jirom  whom  their  commerce  and  colonies  suffered,  in  the  issue, 
dreadful  calamity.  The  Windward  Islands  which  the  Span- 
iards did  not  deem  worthy  their  own  occupation,  had  been  grad- 
ually settled  by  adventurers  of  the  French  and  English  nations. 
But  Frederic  of  Toledo,  who  was  despatched  in  1G30,  with  a 
powerful  fleet  against  the  Dutch,  had  orders  from  th.e  Court 
of  Madrid  to  destroy  these  colonies,  whose  -vicinity  at  once 
offended  the  pride  and  excited  the  jealous  suspicions  of  their 


56  BOKEBT.  [CANTO  I. 

By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  ball, 
Knew  all  his  shapes,  and  scorn'd  them  all. 

IX. 

But  yet,  though  Bertram's  harden'd  look, 

Unmoved,  could  blood  and  danger  brook, 

Still  worse  than  apathy  had  place 

On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face  ; 

For  evil  passions,  cherish'd  long, 

Had  plough'd  them  with  impressions  strong. 


Spanish  neighbours.  This  order  the  Spanish  Admiral  exe- 
cuted with  sufficient  rigour;  but  the  only  consequence  was, 
that  the  planters,  being  rendered  desperate  by  persecution, 
began,  under  the  well-known  name  of  Buccaneers,  to  com- 
mence a  retaliation  so  horridly  savage,  that  the  perusal  makes 
the  reader  shudder.  When  they  carried  on  their  depredations 
at  sea,  they  boarded,  without  respect  to  disparity  of  number, 
every  Spanish  vessel  that  came  in  their  way ;  and,  deraean- 
■ng  themselves,  both  in  the  battle  and  after  the  conquest, 
more  like  demons  thsxn  human  beings,  they  succeeded  in  im- 
pressing their  enemies  with  a  sort  of  superstitious  terror, 
which  rendered  them  incapable  of  offering  effectual  resistance. 
From  piracy  at  sea,  they  advanced  to  making  predatory  de- 
scents oil  the  Spanish  territories ;  in  which  they  displayed  the 
same  furious  and  irresistible  valour,  the  sanie  thirst  of  spoil, 
and  the  same  brutal  inhumanity  to  their  captives.  The  large 
treasures  which  they  acquired  in  their  adventures,  they  dis- 
sipated by  the  most  unbounded  licentiousness  in  gaming, 
women,  wune,  and  debauchery  of  every  species.  When  their 
spoils  were  thus  wasted,  they  entered  into  some  new  associa- 
tion, and  undertook  new  adventures.  For  further  particulars 
concerning  these  extraordinary  banditti,  the  reader  may  con 
Kult  Raynal,  or  tile  common  and  popular  book  called  The 
xlistory  of  the  Buccaneers. 


IA>-TO  I.]  ROKEBT.  37 

All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 
Light  foUjT,  passed  with  youth  away, 
But  rooted  stood,  in  manhood's  hour, 
The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 
And  yet  the  soil  in  which  they  grew, 
Had  it  been  tamed  when  hfe  was  new. 
Had  depth  and  vigour  to  bring  forth  ^ 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Not  that,  e'en  then,  his  heart  had  known 
The  gentler  feelings'  kindly  tone ; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  bounty  in  his  chasten'd  mind, 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  to  feed, 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed, 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  virtue  for  its  guide. 

Even  now,  by  conscience  umcstrain'd, 
Clogg'd  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stain'd. 
Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar, 
And  master)'  o'er  the  mind  he  bore  ; 


1  [3IS. — "  Show'd  depth  and  vigour  to  bring  forth 
The  noblest  fruits  of  virtuous  worth- 
Then  had  the  lust  of  gold  accurst 
Been  lost  in  glory's  nobler  thirst. 
And  deep  revenge  for  trivial  cause. 
Been  zeal  for  freedom  and  for  laws. 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  honour  for  its  guide."] 


38.  ROKEBT.  [CANTO  L 

For  meaner  guilt,  or  heart  less  hard, 
Quail'd  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard.^ 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  train, 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  show, 
Unask'd,  the  news  he  long'd  to  know. 
While  on  far  other  subject  hung 
His  heart,  than  falter'd  from  his  tongue.* 
Yet  nought  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  his  secret  pain, 
But  still,  in  stem  and  stubborn  sort, 
Return'd  him  answer  dark  and  short, 

1  [MS. ''ste7m  regard/'] 

2  ["  The  '  mastery .'  obtained  by  such  a  beiug  as  Bertram 
OYor  the  timid  wickedness  of  inferior  villains,  is  well  delineated 
m  the  conduct  of  Oswald,  who,  though  he  had  not  hesitated 
to  propose  to  him  the  murder  of  his  kinsman,  is  described  as 
fearing  to  ask  him  the  direct  question,  wheViertiie  crime  has  been 
accomplished.  We  must  confess,  for  our  own  parts,  that  we 
did  not,  tiU  we  came  to  the  second  reading  of  the  canto,  per- 
ceive the  propriety,  and  even  the  moral  beauty,  of  this  circum- 
Btance.  We  are  now  quite  convinced  that,  in  introducing  it, 
the  poet  has  been  guided  by  an  accurate  perception  of  tha 
intricacies  of  human  nature.  The  scene  between  King  John 
and  Hubert  may  probably  have  been  present  to  his  mind 
when  he  composed  the  dialogue  between  Oswald  and  his  ter- 
rible agent;  but  it  Avill  be  observed,  that  the  situations  of  the 
respective  personages  are  materially  diflferent;  the  mysterious 
cautioii  in  which  Shakspeare's  usurper  is  made  to  involve 
the  proposal  of  his  crime,  springs  from  motives  undoubtedly 
more  obvious  and  immediate,  but  not  more  consistent  with 
truth  and  probability,  than  that  with  which  Wycliffe  con- 
ceals the  drift  of  his  feaiful  interrogatories." — Critical  Re- 
tptew.  I 


CAXTO  I.]  ROKEBY.  39 

Or  stai-ted  from  the  theme,  to  range 
In  loose  digression  wild  and  strange, 
And  forced  the  embarrass'd  host  to  buy. 
By  quei-y  close,  direct  reply. 

XI. 

Awhile  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 

Of  Commons,  Covenant,  and  Laws, 

And  Church  Reform'd — but  felt  rebuke 

Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look. 

Then  stammer'd — ''  Has  a  field  been  fought  ? 

Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought  ? 

For  sure  a  soldier,  famed  so  far 

In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war, 

On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the' host, 

Until  the  field  were  won  and  lost." — 

"  Here,  in  your  towel's  by  circling  Tees, 

You,  Oswald  Wyclitfe,  rest  at  ease  ;  ^ 

Why  deem  it  sti-ange  that  others  come 

To  share  such  safe  and  easy  home, 

From  fields  where  danger,  death,  and  toil^ 

Are  the  reward  of  civil  broil  ?  " — ^ 

"  Nay,    mock     not,    friend !      since    well    we 

know 
The  near  advances  o^  the  foe. 
To  mar  our  northern  army's  work, 
Encamp'd  before  beleaguer'd  York  ; 


1  [MS.—"  Safe  sit  you,  Oswald,  and  at  ease."] 
a  [MS.—-*  Award  the  meed  of  civU  broil."l 


40  BOKEBT.  [CAHTO  I. 

Thy  horse  with  valiant  Fairfax  lay,* 

And  must  have  fought — ^how  went  the  day  ?  " — 

XII. 

"  Wouldst  hear  the  tale  ? — On  Marston  heath  * 
Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death  ; 

1  [MS. — "  Thy  horsemen  on  the  outposts  lay." 

2  The  well-known  and  desperate  battle  of  Long-Marston 
Moor,  which  terminated  so  unfortunately  for  the  cause  of 
Charles,  commenced  under  verj'  different  auspices.  Prince 
Rupert  had  marched  with  an  army  of  20,000  men  fur  the  relief 
of  York,  then  besieged  by  Sir  Thomas  Faiifax,  at  the  head 
of  the  Parliamentary  army,  and  the  Earl  of  Leven,  with  the 
Scottish  auxiliary  forces.  In  this  he  so  completely  succeeded, 
that  he  compelled  the  besiegers  to  retreat  to  Marston  Moor,  a 
large  open  plain,  about  eight  miles  distant  from  the  city. 
Thither  they  were  followed  by  the  Prince,  who  had  now 
united  to  his  army  the  garrison  of  York,  probably  not  less 
than  ten  thousand  men  strong,  under  the  gallant  Marquis  (then 
Earl)  of  Newcastle.  Whiteiocke  has  recorded,  with  much 
impartiality,  the  following  particulars  of  this  eventful  day: 
"  The  right  wing  of  the  Parliament  was  commanded  by  Sir 
Thomas  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  all  his  horse,  and  three  regi- 
ments of  the  Scots  horse;  the  left  wing  was  commanded  by 
the  Earl  of  Manchester  and  Colonel  Cromwell,  One  body  of 
their  foot  was  commanded  by  Lord  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of 
Uis  foot,  and  two  brigades  of  the  Scots  foot  for  reserve;  and 
the  main  body  of  the  rest  of  the  foot  was  commanded  by 
General  Leven. 

"  The  right  wing  of  the  Prince's  army  was  commanded  by 
the  Earl  of  Newcastle;  the  left  wing  byjhe  Prince  himself; 
and  the  main  body  bj-  General  Goring,  Sir  Charles  Lucas, 
and  Major-General  Porter; — thus  were  both  sides  drawn  up 
into  battalia. 

"July  3i,  1644.  In  this  posture  both  annies  faced  each 
Other,  and  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  fight  began 


CANTO  I.]  ROKEBT.  41 

Flourish'd  the  trumpets  fierce,  and  now 
Fired  was  each  eye,  and  flush'd  each  brow ; 
On  either  side  loud  clamours  ling, 
*  God  and  the  Cause  ! ' — '  God  and  the  King  ! ' 
Right  English  all,  they  rush'd  to  blows, 
With  nought  to  win,  and  all  to  lose. 

oetween  them.  The  Priuce,  with  his  left  wing,  fell  on  the 
Parliament's  right  wing,  routed  them,  and  pursued  them  a 
great  way;  the  like  did  General  Goring,  Lucas,  and  Porter, 
apon  the  ParUament's  main  body.  The  three  generals,  giving 
all  for  lost,  hasted  out  of  the  field,  and  many  of  their  soldiers 
fled,  and  threw  down  their  arms ;  the  King's  forces  too  eagerly 
following  them,  the  victory,  now  almost  achieved  by  them, 
was  again  snatched  out  of  their  hands.  For  Colonel  Crom- 
well, with  the  brave  regiment  of  his  countrymen,  and  Sir 
Thomas  Fairfax,  having  rallied  some  of  his  horse,  fell  upon 
the  Prince's  right  wing,  where  the  Earl  of  Newcastle  was,  and 
routed  them ;  and  the  rest  of  their  companions  rallying,  they 
fell  altogether  upon  the  divided  bodies  of  Rupert  and  Goring, 
and  totally  dispersed  them,  and  obtained  a  complete  victory, 
after  three  hours'  fight. 

"  From  this  battle  and  the  pursuit,  some  reckon  were 
buried  7000  Englishmen;  all  agree  that  above  3000  of  the 
Prince's  men  were  slain  in  the  battle,  besides  those  in  the 
chase,  and  3000  prisoners  taken,  many  of  their  chief  officers, 
twenty-five  pieces  of  ordnance,  forty-seven  colours,  10,000 
arms,  two  wagons  of  carabins  and  pistols,  130  barrels  of  pow- 
der, and  all  their  bag  and  baggage." — Whitelocke's  Memoirs^ 
foi.  p.  89.  Lond.  1682. 

Lord  Clarendon  informs  us,  that  the  King,  previous  to 
receiving  the  true  account  of  the  battle,  had  been  informed, 
by  an  express  from  Oxford,  "  that  Prince  Rupert  had  not 
only  relieved  York,  but  totally  defeated  the  Scots,  with 
many  particulars  to  confirm  it,  all  which  was  so  much  be- 
lieved there,  that  they  had  made  public  fires  of  joy  for  the 
tiotory." 


42  ROKEBT.  [CAHTO  L 

I  could  have  laugh'd — ^but  lack'd  the  time — 

To  see,  in  phrenesy  sublime, 

How  the  fierce  zealots  fought  and  bled, 

For  king  or  state,  as  humour  led ; 

Some  for  a  dream  of  public  good, 

Some  for  church-tippet,  gown  and  hood, 

Draining  their  veins,  in  death  to  claim 

A  patriot's  or  a  martyr's  name. — 

Led  Bertram  Kisingham  the  hearts,* 

That  counter'd  there  on  adverse  parts, 

No  superstitious  fool  had  I 

Sought  El  Dorados  in  the  sky  ! 

ChiU  had  heard  me  through  her  states, 

And  Lima  oped  her  silver  gates, 

Rich  Mexico  I  had  march'd  through. 

And  sack'd  the  splendours  of  Peru, 

Till  sunk  Pizarro's  daring  name. 

And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame." — ^ 


1  [MS.—"  Led  I  but  half  of  such  bold  hearts, 

As  countered  there,"  &c.] 

2  [The  Quarterly  Reviewer  (No.  xvi.)  thus  states  the  cansea 
of  the  hesitation  he  had  had  in  arriving  at  the  ultimate  opin- 
ion, that  Rokeby  was  worthy  of  the  "  high  praise  "  already 
quoted  from  the  commencement  of  his  article :  "  We  confess, 
then,  that  in  the  language  and  versification  of  this  poem,  we 
were,  in  the  first  instance,  disappointed.  We  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  either  is  invariably  faulty ;  neither  is  it  within  the 
power  of  accident  that  the  conceptions  of  a  vigourous  and 
highly-cultivated  mind,  should  uniformly  invest  themselves 
in  trivial  expressions,  or  in  dissonant  rhymes;  but  we  do 
think  that  those  golden  lines,  which  spontaneously  fasten 
themselves  on  the  memory  of  the  reader  are  more  rare,  and 


CASTU  1.1  ROKEBT.  43 

"  Still  from  the  purpose  wilt  thou  stra}* ! 
Good  gentle  friend,  how  went  the  day  r  " — 

XIII. 

"  Good  am  I  deem'd  at  trumpet-sound, 
And  good  where  goblets  dance  the  round, 
Though  gentle  ne'er  was  join'd,  till  now, 
With  rugged  Bertram's  breast  and  brow. — 
But  I  resume.     The  battle's  rage 
"Was  hke  the  strife  which  cuiTents  wage, 
Where  Orinoco,  in  his  pride, 
Rolls  to  the  main  no  tribute  tide, 


Ihat  instances  of  a  culpable,  and  almost  slovenly  inattention 
to  the  usual  rules  of  diction  and  of  metre,  are  more  frequent 
in  this,  than  in  any  preceding  work  of  Mr.  Scott.  In  support 
of  this  opinion,  we  adduce  the  following  quotation,  which 
occurs  in  stanza  xii. ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  description  which 
is,  in  some  parts,  unusually  splendid— 

*  Led  Bertram  kisinghara  the  hearts,' 
to 

'  And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame.' 
"  The  author,  surely,  cannot  require  to  be  told,  that  the 
feebleness  of  these  j'ingling  couplets  is  less  offensive  than 
their  obscurity.  The  first  line  is  unintelligible,  because  the 
conditional  word  'if,'  on  which  the  meaning  depends,  is  nei- 
ther expressed  nor  implied  in  it;  and  the  third  line  is  equally 
faulty,  because  the  sentence,  when  restored  to  its  natural 
order,  can  only  express  the  exact  converse  of  the  speaker's 
intention.  We  think  it  necessary  to  remonstrate  against 
these  barbarous  inversions,  because  we  consider  the  rules  of 
grammar  as  the  only  shackles  by  which  the  Hudibra*tic 
metre,  already  so  licentious,  can  be  confined  within  tolerable 
limits."] 


44  ROKEBT.  [CASTO  L 

But  'gainst  broad  ocean  urges  far 

A  rival  sea  of  roaring  war  ; 

While,  in  ten  thousand  eddies  driven, 

The  billows  fling  their  foam  to  heaven, 

And  the  pale  pilot  seeks  in  vain, 

Where  rolls  the  river,  where  the  main. 

Even  thus  upon  the  bloody  field. 

The  eddying  tides  of  conflict  wheeFd  * 

Ambiguous,  till  that  heart  of  flame. 

Hot  Rupert,  on  our  squadrons  came, 

Hurling  against  our  spears  a  line 

Of  gallants,  fiery  as  their  wine  ; 

Then  ours,  though  stubborn  in  their  zeal. 

In  zeal's  despite  began  to  reel. 

What  wouldst  thou  more  ? — in  tumult  tost, 

Our  leaders  fell,  our  ranks  were  lost. 

A  thousand  men,  who  drew  the  sword 

For  both  the  Houses  and  the  Word, 

Preach'd  forth  from  hamlet,  grange,  and  down 

To  curb  the  crosier  and  the  crown, 

Now,  stark  and  stiff,  lie  stretch'd  in  gore. 

And  ne'er  shall  rail  at  mitre  more. 

Thus  fared  it,  when  I  left  the  fight. 

With  the  good  Cause  and  Commons'  right." — • 

XIV. 

"  Disastrous  news  ! "  dark  Wycliffe  said ; 
Assumed  despondence  bent  his  head, 

1  [MS.—"  The  doubtful  tides  of  battle  reel'd.*'] 


lAKTO  I.]  KOKEBY.  45 

While  tix)ubled  joy  was  in  his  eye, 

The  well-feign'd  sorrow  to  belie, — 

"  Disastrous  news  ! — when  needed  most, 

Told  ye  not  that  your  chiefs  were  lost  ? 

Complete  the  woful  tale,  and  say, 

Who  fell  upon  that  fatal  day  ; 

Wlmt  leaders  of  repute  and  name 

Bought  by  their  death  a  deathless  fame.* 

If  such  my  direst  foeman's  doom, 

My  tears  shall  dew  his  honour'd  tomb. — 

No  answer  ? — Friend,  of  all  our  host, 

Thou  know'st  m  horn  I  should  hate  the  most, 

Whom  thou  too,  once,  wert  wont  to  hate, 

Yet  leavest  me  doubtful  of  his  fate." — 

With  look  unmoy'd, — "  Of  friend  or  foe, 

Aught,"  answer'd  Bertram, "  wouldst  thou  know, 

Demand  in  simple  terms  and  plain, 

A  soldier's  answer  shalt  thou  gain  ; 

For  question  dark,  or  riddle  high, 

I  have  nor  judgment  nor  reply." 

XV. 

The  wrath  his  art  and  fear  suppress'd, 
Now  blazed  at  once  in  Wycliffe's  breast ; 
And  brave,  from  man  so  meanly  bom, 
Roused  his  hereditary  scorn. 
"  Wretch !  hast  thou  paid  thy  bloody  debt  ? 
Philip  of  Mortham,  lives  he  yet  ? 

1  [MS. — "  Chose  death  in  preference  to  shame."] 


46  ROKEBY.  [CAUTO  I 

False  to  thy  patron  or  tliine  oath, 
Trait'rous  or  perjured,  one  or  both. 
Slave !  hast  thou  kept  thy  promise  pHght, 
To  slay  thy  leader  in  the  fight  ?  " 
Then  from  his  seat  the  soldier  sprung, 
And  Wycliife's  hand  he  strongly  wrung  ; 
His  grasp,  as  hard  as  glove  of  mail, 
Forced  the  red  blood-drop  from  the  nail — 
"  A  health  !  "  he  cried  ;  and,  ere  he  quaflM, 
Flung  from  him  Wyclitfe's  hand,  and  laugh'd 
— "  Now,  Oswald  Wychffe,  speaks  thy  heart  1 
Now  play'st  thou  well  thy  genuine  part ! 
Worthy,  but  for  thy  craven  fear, 
Like  me  to  roam  a  buccaneer. 
What  reck'st  thou  of  the  Cause  divine, 
If  Mortham's  weahh  and  lands  be  thine? 
What  carest  thou  for  beleaguer'd  York, 
If  this  good  hand  have  done  its  work  ? 
Or  what  though  Fairfax  and  his  best 
Are  reddening  Miirston's  swarthy  breast, 
If  Philip  Mortham  with  them  lie, 
Lending  his  life-blood  to  the  dye  ? — * 
Sit,  then  !  and  as  mid  comrades  free 
Carousing  after  victory, 
Wlien  tales  are  told  of  blood  and  fear, 
That  boys  and  women  '^  shrink  to  liear, 

i  [MS—"  And  henrt's-blood  lend  to  aid  the  dye? 
Sit,  theu!  and  as  to  comrades  boon 
Carousing  for  achievement  won."] 

8  [MS.—"  That  boys  and  cowards,"  &c.] 


CAjrro  l]  BOKEBT.  47 

From  point  to  point  I  frankly  tell  * 
The  deed  of  death  as  it  befelL 


XYI. 

"  When  purposed  vengeance  I  forego, 

Terra  me  a  wretch,  nor  deem  me  foe ; 

And  when  an  insult  I  forgive,^ 

Then  bi-and  me  as  a  slave,  and  live  ! — 

Philip  of  iMortham  is  with  those 

Whom  Bertram  Risingham  calls  foes ; 

Or  whom  more  sure  revenge  attends,* 

If  number'd  with  ungrateful  friends. 

As  was  his  wont,  ere  battle  glo^v'd, 

Along  the  marshall'd  ranks  he  rode, 

And  wore  his  visor  up  the  while. 

I  saw  his  melancholy  smile. 

When,  full  opposed  in  front,  he  knew 

Where  Rokeby's  kindred  banner  flew. 

*  And  thus,'  he  said,  *  will  friends  divide !  * — 

I  heard,  and  thought  how,  side  by  side, 

We  two  had  tum'd  the  battle's  tide. 

In  many  a  well-debated  field, 

Where  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's  shield 

I  thought  on  Darien's  deserts  pale, 

Where  death  bestrides  the  evening  gale, 

1  [2JS. — "  Frank,  as  from  mate  to  mate,  T  tell 
What  way  the  deed  of  death  befell  "  J 

*  [MS. — **  Xame  when  an  insult  I  forgave, 

And,  Oswald  Wydiffe,  call  me  slave."] 

•  [MS. — "  Whom  surest  his  revenge  attends. 

If  number'd  once  among  his  friends."] 


48  ROKEBT.  [CASTO  L 

How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  1  threw, 

And  fenceless  faced  the  deadly  dew  ; 

I  thought  on  Quariana's  chlF, 

Where,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skifT, 

Through  the  white  breakers'  wrath  I  bore 

Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore ; 

And  when  his  side  an  arrow  found,  • 

I  suck'd  the  Indian's  venom'd  wound. 

These  thoughts  Uke  torrents  rush'd  along,^ 

To  sweep  away  my  purpose  strong. 

XVII. 

"  Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flints  are  rent ; 
Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent. 
When  Mortham  bade  me,  as  of  yore, 
Be  near  him  in  the  battle's  roar, 
I  scarcely  saw  the  spears  laid  low, 
I  scarcely  heard  the  trumpets  blow ; 
Ivost  was  the  war  in  inward  strife, 
Debating  Moitham's  death  or  life. 
*Twas  then  I  thought,  how,  lured  to  come, 
As  partner  of  his  wealth  and  home. 
Years  of  piratic  wandering  o'er, 
With  him  I  sought  our  native  shore. 
But  Mortham's  lord  grew  far  estranged 
From  the  bold  heart  with  whom  he  ranged ; 
Doubts,  horrors,  superstitious  fears, 
Sadden'd  and  dimm'd  descending  years ; 

1  [MS  — "  These  thoughts  rush'd  on,  like  torrent's  sway 
To  sweep  my  stern  resolve  away."] 


cAjnx>  lJ  bokeby.  4^ 

The  wily  priests  their  victim  sought, 

And  damm'd  each  free-born  ^  deed  and  thought 

Then  must  I  seek  another  home. 

My  Hcense  shook  his  sober  dome  ; 

If  gold  he  gave,  in  one  wild  day 

I  revell'd  thrice  the  sum  away. 

An  idle  outcast  then  I  stray'd, 

Unfit  for  tillage  or  for  trade. 

Deem'd,  like  the  steel  of  rusted  lance, 

Useless  and  dangerous  at  once. 

The  women  feai-'d  my  hardy  look, 

At  my  approach  the  peaceful  shook  ; 

The  merchant  saw  my  glance  of  flame, 

And  lock'd  his  hoards  when  Bertram  came ; 

Each  child  of  cowai*d  peace  kept  far 

From  the  neglected  son  of  war. 

XVIII. 

"But  civil  discord  gave  the  call, 
And  made  my  trade  the  trade  of  alL 
By  Mortham  urged,  I  came  again 
His  vassals  to  the  fight  to  train. 
What  guerdon  waited  on  my  care !  * 
I  could  not  cant  of  creed  or  prayer ; 
Sour  fanatics  each  trust  obtain'd, 
And  I,  dishonour'd  and  disdain'd, 


1  [MS.—"  Each  liberal  deed."] 

2  [MS.— "  But  of  my  labour  what  the  meed? 

I  could  not  cant  of  chnrch  or  creed."] 
VOL.  IV.  4 


60  ROKEBY.  [CANTO  1 

Gain'd  but  the  high  and  happy  lot, 
In  these  poor  arms  to  front  the  shot  !— 
All  this  thou  know'st,  thy  gestures  tell ; 
Yet  hear  it  o'er,  and  mark  it  well. 
*Tis  honour  bids  me  now  relate 
Each  circumstance  of  Mortham's  fate. 

XIX. 

"  Thoughts,  from  the  tongue  that  sloAvly  part, 
Glance  quick  as  lightning  through  the  heart. 
As  my  spur  press'd  my  courser's  side, 
Philip  of  Mortham's  cause  was  tried. 
And,  ere  the  charging  squadrons  mix'd, 
His  plea  was  cast,  his  doom  was  fix'd. 
I  watch'd  him  through  the  doubtful  fi*ay. 
That  changed  as  March's  moody  day,* 
Till,  like  a  stream  that  bursts  its  bank,* 
Fierce  Rupert  thundei-'d  on  our  flank. 
'Twas  then,  midst  tumult,  smoke,  and  strife, 
Where  each  man  fought  for  death  or  life, 
*Twas  then  I  fired  my  petronel. 
And  Morthara,  steed  and  rider,  fell. 
One  dying  look  he  upward  cast 
Of  wrath  and  anguish — 'twas  his  last. 


1  [MS. — "  That  changed  as  with  a  whirlwind's  sway."] 

*  [ "  dashing 

On  thy  war-horse  through  the  ranks, 
tike  a  stream  which  burst  its  banks." 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  818.] 


CAirro  l]  BOKEBT.  5 1 

Think  not  that  there  I  stopped,  to  view 
What  of  the  battle  should  ensue ; 
But  ere  I  clear'd  that  bloody  press, 
Our  northern  horse  ran  masterless  ; 
Monckton  and  Mitton  told  the  news,* 
How  troops  of  roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 
And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 
Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  i)ast, 
Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 
First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed.^ 
Yet  when  I  reach'd  the  banks  of  Swale, 
Had  rumour  leam'd  another  tale  ; 
With  his  barb'd  liorse,  fresh  tidings  say, 
Stout  Cromwell  has  redeem'd  the  day  :  • 

1  [MS. — '*  Hot  Rupert  on  the  spur  pursues: 

Whole  troops  of  fliers  choked  the  Ouse."] 

2  [See  Appendix,  Xote  C] 

«  Cromwell,  with  his  regiment  of  cuirassiers,  had  a  princi- 
pal share  in  turning  the  fate  of  the  day  at  ilarston  Moor; 
whicli  was  equally  matter  of  triumph  to  the  Independents, 
and  of  grief  and  heart-burning  to  the  Presbyterians  and  to 
the  Scottish.  Principal  Baillie  expresses  his  dissatisfaction 
as  follows: — 

♦'  The  Independents  sent  up  one  quickly  to  assure  that  all 
the  glory  of  that  night  was  theirs ;  and  they  and  their  Major- 
General  Cromwell  had  done  it  all  there  alone;  but  Captain 
Stuart  afterward  showed  the  vanity  and  falsehood  of  their 
disgrace  f::!  relation.  God  gave  us  that  victory  wonderfully. 
There  ware  three  generals  on  each  side,  Lesley,  Fairfax,  and 
5Janchester;  Rupert,  Newcastle,  and  King.  Witliin  half  an 
hour  and  less,  all  six  took  them  to  their  heels; — this  to  you 
alone.  The  disadvantage  of  the  gronnd,  and  violence  of  tlie 
flower  of  Prince  Rupert's  horse,  carried  all  our  right-wing 
iown,  only  Kglinton  kept  ground,  to  his  great  loss;  his  lieu- 


52  ROKEBT.  [CAjrro  L 

But  whether  false  the  news,  or  true, 
Oswald,  I  reck  as  light  as  you." 

XX. 

Not  then  by  Wycliffe  might  be  shown, 
How  his  pride  startled  at  the  tone 
In  which  his  complice,  fierce  and  free, 
Asserted  guilt's  equaUty. 
In  smoothest  terms  his  speech  he  wove, 
Of  endless  friendship,  faith,  and  love ; 
Promised  and  vow'd  in  courteous  sort, 
But  Bertram  broke  professions  short, 
*'  Wycliffe,  be  sure  not  here  I  stay, 
No,  scarcely  till  the  rising  day  ; 
Warn'd  by  the  legends  of  my  youth,* 
I  trust  not  an  associate's  truth. 
Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 
Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 
Train'd  forward  to  his  bloody  fall. 
By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  ?  * 

tenant  crowner,  a  brave  man,  1  fear  sliall  die,  and  his  son 
Robert  be  mutilated  of  an  arm.  Lindsay  had  tlie  greatest 
hazard  of  any ;  but  the  beginnir.ji  of  the  victorj'  was  from 
David  Lesley,  -who  before  was  much  suspected  of  evil  designs; 
be,  with  the  Scots  and  Cromwell's  horse,  having  the  advan- 
tage of  the  ground,  did  dissipate  all  before  them." — Bail- 
lie's  Letters  and  Journals.     Edin.  17S5,  bvo.  ii.  36. 

1  [MS. — "  Taught  by  the  legends  of  my  youth 

Tu  trust  to  no  associate's  truth."] 

2  lu  a  poem,  entitled  "  The  Lay  of  the  Kcedwater  Minstrel," 
Newcastle,  1809,  this  tale,  with  many  others  pecuhar  to  the 
wdley  of  the  Beed,  is  commemorated:    "  The  partioulaw  of 


TASTO  l]  rokebt.  53 

Oft,  bj  the  Pringle's  haunted  side, 
The  shepherd  sees  his  spectre  glide. 
And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 
The  moated  mound  of  Risingham,^ 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  TVoodbume's  cottages  and  trees, 
Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone  ;  ^ 


the  traditional  story  of  Parcy  Reed  of  Troughend,  and  the 
Halls  of  Girsonfield,  the  author  had  from  a  descendant  of  the 
family  of  Reed.  From  his  account,  it  appears  that  Percival 
Reed,  Esquire,  a  keeper  of  Reedsdale,  was  betrayed  by  the 
Halls  (lience  denominated  the  falsehearted  Ha's)  to  a  band 
of  moss-troopers  of  the  name  of  Crosier,  who  slew  him  at 
Batinghope,  near  the  source  of  the  Reed. 

"  The  Halls  were,  after  the  murder  of  Parcj'  Reed,  held  in 
Buch  universal  abhorrence  and  contempt  by  the  inhabitants 
of  Reedsdale,  for  their  cowardly  and  treacherous  behaviour, 
that  the}'  were  obliged  to  leave  the  country."  In  another 
passage,  we  are  informed  that  the  ghost  of  the  injured  Bor- 
derer is  supposed  to  haunt  the  banks  of  a  brook  called  the 
Priugle.  These  Redes  of  Troughend  were  a  very  ancient 
family,  as  may  be  conjectured  from  their  deriving  their  sur- 
name from  the  river  on  which  they  had  their  mansion.  An 
epitaph  on  one  of  their  tombs  affirms,  that  the  family  held 
their  lands  of  Troughend,  which  are  situated  on  the  Reed, 
nearly  opposite  to  Otterbum,  for  the  incredible  space  of  nine 
hundred  years. 

1  [MS. — "  Still  by  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 

The  moated  camp  of  Risingham, 
A  giant  form  the  stranger  sees, 
Half  hid  by  rifted  recks  and  trees."] 

2  Risingham,  upon  the  river  Reed,  near  the  beautiful  ham- 
et  of  Woodbnni,  is  an  ancient  Roman  station,  formerly  called 
flabitancum.     Camden  says,  that  in  liLs  time  the  popu'ar 


54  ROKEBY.  [canto  1 

Unmatched  in  strength,  a  giant  lie, 
With  quiver'd  back,^  and  kirtled  knee. 

account  bore,  that  it  had  been  the  abode.of  a  deity,  or  giant, 
called  Magon ;  and  appeals,  in  support  of  this  tradition,  as 
well  as  to  the  etymology  of  Risingham,  or  Reisenham,  which 
signifies,  in  German,  the  habitation  of  the  giants,  to  two 
Roman  altars  taken  out  of  the  river,  inscribed,  Deo  Mogoxti 
Cadexorum.  About  half  a  mile  distant  from  Risingham, 
upon  an  eminence  covered  with  scattered  birch-trees  and 
fragments  of  rock,  there  is  cut  upon  a  large  rock,  in  alto 
relievo,  a.  remarkable  figure,  called  Robin  of  Risingham,  or 
Robin  of  Reedsdale.  It  presents  a  hunter,  with  his  bow  raised 
in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  what  seems  to  be  a  hare.  There 
is  a  quiver  at  the  back  of  the  figure,  and  he  is  dressed  in  a 
long  coat,  or  kirtle,  coming  down  to  the  knees,  and  meeting 
close,  with  a  girdle  bound  round  him.  Dr.  Horseley,  who 
saw  all  monuments  of  antiquity  with  Roman  eyes,  inclines  to 
think  this  figure  a  Roman  archer;  and  certainly  the  bow  is 
rather  of  the  ancient  size  than  of  that  which  was  so  formid- 
able in  the  hand  of  the  English  archers  of  the  middle  ages. 
But  the  rudeness  of  the  whole  figure  prevents  our  founding 
strongly  upon  mere  inaccuracy  of  proportion.  The  popular 
tradition  is,  that  it  represents  a  giant,  whose  brother  resided 
at  Woodburn,  and  he  himself  at  Risingham.  It  adds,  that 
they  subsisted  by  hunting,  and  that  one  of  them,  finding  the 
game  become  too  scarce  to  support  them,  poisoned  his  com- 
panion, in  whose  memory  the  monument  was  engraved. 
What  strange  and  tragic  circumstance  may  be  concealed 
under  this  legend,  or  whether  it  is  utterly  apocryphal,  it  is 
now  impossible  to  discover. 

The  name  of  Robin  of  Redesdale,  was  given  to  one  of  the 
Umfravilles,  Lords  of  Prudhoe,  and  afterwards  to  one  Hilliard, 
a  friend  and  follower  of  the  king-making  Earl  of  Warwick. 
This  person  commanded  an  army  of  Northamptonshire  and 
northern  men,  who  seized  on  and  beheaded  the  Earl  Rivera, 
father  to  Edward  the  Fourth's  queen,  and  his  son.  Sir  Johy 
Woodville. — See  Holinshed,  ad  annum,  1469. 

I  [MS. — "  With  bow  in  hand,"  &c.] 


CA>TO  l]  rokeby.  55 

Ask  how  he  died,  that  hunter  bold, 
The  tameless  monarch  cf  the  wold, 
And  age  and  infancy  can  tell, 
By  brother's  treachery  he  fell. 
Thus  wani'd  by  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  U-ust  to  no  associate's  truth. 


•  XXI. 

"  When  last  we  reason'd  of  this  deed, 
Nought,  I  betliink  me,  was  agreed. 
Or  by  what  rule,  or  when,  or  where. 
The  wealth  of  Mortham  we  should  share ; 
Then  list,  while  I  the  portion  name. 
Our  ditfering  laws  give  each  to  claim. 
Thou,  vassal  swora  to  England's  throne. 
Her  rules  of  heritage  must  own  ; 
They  deal  thee,  as  to  nearest  heir, 
Thy  kinsman's  lands  and  livings  fair, 
And  these  I  yield  ; — do  thou  revere 
The  statutes  of  the  Buccaneer.^ 

1  The  "  statutes  of  the  Buccaneers  "  were,  in  reality,  more 
equitable  than  could  have  been  expected  froni  the  state  of 
society  under  which  they  had  been  formed.  They  chiefly 
related,  as  may  readily  be  conjectured,  to  the  distribulica 
and  the  inheritance  of  their  plunder. 

When  the  expedition  was  completed,  the  fund  of  prize- 
money  acquired  was  thrown  together,  each  party  taking  his 
oath  that  he  had  retained  or  concealed  no  part  of  the  common 
Btock.  If  any  one  transgressed  in  this  important  pirticular, 
the  punishment  was,  his  being  set  a-hore  on  some  desert  key 
or  island,  to  shift  for  hmiseif  as  be  could.  The  owners  of  the 
vessel  had  then  their  share  assigned   for  the  expenses  of  the 


56  ROKEBY.  [canto  I 

Friend  to  the  sea,  and  foeman  sworn 

To  all  that  on  her  waves  are  borne, 

When  falls  a  mate  in  battle  broil, 

His  comrade  heirs  his  portion'd  spoil ; 

When  dies  in  fight  a  daring  foe, 

He  claims  his  wealth  who  struck  the  blow ; 

outfit.  These  were  generally  old  pirate?,  ^ttled  at  Tobago, 
Jamaica,  St.  Domingo,  or  some  other  French  and  English 
Bettlement.  The  surgeon's  and  carpenter's  salaries,  with  the 
price  of  provisions  and  ammunition  were  also  defrayed.  Then 
followed  the  compensation  due  to  the  maimed  and  wounded, 
rated  according  to  the  damage  they  had  sustained ;  as  six 
hundred  pieces  of  eight,  or  six  slaves,  for  the  loss  of  an  arm 
or  leg,  and  so  in  proportion. 

"  After  this  act  of  justice  and  hiimanify,  the  remainder  of 
the  booty  was  divided  into  as  many  shares  as  there  were 
Buccaneers.  The  commander  could  only  lay  claim  to  a  single 
share,  as  the  rest;  but  they  complimented  him  with  two  or 
three,  in  proportion  as  he  had  acquitted  himself  to  their  sat- 
isfaction. When  the  vessel  was  not  the  property  of  the  whole 
company,  the  person  who  had  fitted  it  out,  and  furnished  it 
with  necessary  arms  and  ammunition,  was  entitled  to  a  third 
of  all  the  prizes.  Favour  had  never  any  influence  in  the 
division  of  the  booty,  for  every  share  was  determined  by  lot. 
Instances  of  such  rigid  justice  as  this  are  not  easily  met  with, 
and  they  extended  even  to  the  dead.  Their  share  was  given 
to  the  man  who  was  known  to  be  their  companion  when 
alive,  and  therefore  their  heir.  If  the  person  who  had  been 
killed  had  no  intimate,  his  part  was  sent  to  his  relations,  when 
they  were  known.  If  there  were  no  friends  nor  relations,  it 
was  distributed  in  charity  to  the  poor  and  to  churches,  which 
were  to  pray  for  the  person  in  whose  name  these  benefactions 
svere  given,  the  fruits  of  inhuman,  but  necessary  piratica 
plunders." — Raynal's  History  of  European  Settlements  in 
the  East  and  West  Indies,  by  Justamond.  Lond.  1776,  8vo.  iii 
p.  41 


CANTO  I.]  BOKEBT.  57 

And  either  rule  to  me  assigns 
Those  spoils  of  Indian  seas  and  mines, 
Hoarded  in  Mortham's  caverns  dark  ; 
Ingot  of  gold  and  diamond  spark, 
Chalice  and  plate  from  churches  borne, 
And  gems  from  shrieking  beauty  torn, 
Each  string  of  pearl,  each  silver  bar, 
And  all  the  wealth  of  western  war. 
I  go  to  search,  where,  dark  and  deep, 
Those  Trans-atlantic  treasures  sleep. 
Thou  must  along — for,  lacking  thee. 
The  heir  will  scarce  find  entrance  free  ; 
And  then  farewell.     I  haste  to  try 
Each  varied  pleasure  wealth  can  buy ; 
When  cloy'd  each  wish,  these  wars  afford 
Fresh  work  for  Bertram's  restless  sword." 

XXII. 

An  undecided  answer  hung 
On  Oswald's  hesitating  tongue. 
Despite  his  craft,  he  heard  with  awe 
This  ruffian  stabber  fix  the  law ; 
While  his  own  troubled  passions  veer 
Through  hatred,  joy,  regj-el,  and  fear : — 
Joy'd  at  the  soul  that  Bertram  Hies, 
He  grudged  the  mui-derer's  mighty  prize, 
Hated  his  pride's  presunipluous  tone. 
And  fear'd  to  wend  with  liim  alone. 
At  length,  that  middle  course  to  steer. 
To  cowardice  and  cral't  so  dear. 


38  ROKEBT.  [canto   I. 

"  His  charge,"  he  said,  "  would  ill  allow 
His  absence  from  the  fortress  now  ; 
Wilfrid  on  Bertram  should  attend, 
His  son  should  journey  with  his  friend.** 

XXIII. 

Contempt  kept  Bertram's  anger  down, 
And  wreathed  to  savage  smile  his  frown. 
"  Wilfrid,  or  thou — 'tis  one  to  me, 
Wliichever  bears  the  golden  key. 
•    Yet  think  not  but  I  mark,  and  smile 
To  mark,  thy  poor 'and  selfish  wile  ! 
If  injury  from  me  you  fear. 
What,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  shields  thee  here  ? 
I've  spining  from  walls  more  high  than  these, 
I've  swam  through  deeper  streams  than  Teea 
Might  I  not  stab  thee,  ere  one  yell 
Could  rouse  the  distant  sentinel  ? 
Start  not — it  is  not  my  design. 
But,  if  it  were,  weak  fence  were  thine ; 
And,  trust  me,  that,  in  time  of  need. 
This  hand  hath  done  more  desperate  deed. 
Go,  haste  and  rouse  thy  slumbering  son ; 
Time  calls,  and  I  must  needs  be  gone." 

XXIV. 

Nought  of  his  sire's  ungenerous  part 
Polluted  Wilfrid's  gentle  heart ; 
A  heart  too  soft  from  early  life 
To  hold  with  fortune  needful  strife. 


CAJtTO  I.]  UOKEBY.  59 

His  sire,  while  yet  a  hcOi'dier  race  * 
Of  numerous  sons  were  Wycliffe's  grace, 
On  Wilfrid  set  contemptuous  brand, 
For  feeble  heart  and  forceless  hand ; 
But  a  fond  mother's  care  and  joy 
Were  centred  in  her  sickly  boy. 
No  touch  of  childhood's  frolic  mood 
S-how'd  the  elastic  spring  of  blood  ; 
Hour  after  hour  he  loved  to  pore 
On  Shakspeare's  rich  and  varied  lore. 
But  turn'd  from  martial  scenes  and  light. 
From  Falstaff's  feast  and  Percy's  fight, 
To  ponder  Jaques'  moral  strain, 
And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  vain  ; 
And  weep  himself  to  soft  repose 
O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 

XXV. 

In  youth  he  sought  not  pleasures  found 
By  youth  in  horse,  and  hawk,  and  hound, 
But  loved  the  quiet  joys  that  wake 
By  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake ; 
In  Doepdale's  sohtude  to  lie, 
Where  all  is  cliff  and  copse  and  sky ; 
To  climb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak, 
Or  lone  Pendragon's  mound  to  seek.'' 

I  [MS. "  while  yet  around  him  stood 

A  numerous  race  of  hardier  mood."] 
'  I"'  And  oft  the  craggy  cliff  he  loved  to  climb, 
SViicn  all  ir  mist  the  world  below  was  lost, 


60  ROKEBT.  [CAJBTO 

Such  was  his  wont ;  and  there  his  dream 
Soar'd  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme 
Of  faitliful  love,  or  ceaseless  spring, 
Till  Contemplation's  wearied  wing 
The  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain, 
And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 

XXVI. 

lie  loved — as  many  a  lay  can  tell. 
Preserved  in  Stanmore's  lonely  dell ; 
For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caught 
The  art  unteachable,  untaught ; 
He  loved — his  soul  did  nature  fi*ame 
For  love,  and  fancy  nursed  the  flame ; 
Vainly  he  loved — for  seldom  swain 
Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again  ; 
Silent  he  loved — in  every  gaze 
Was  passion,^  friendship  in  his  phrase. 
So  mused  his  life  away — till  died 
His  brethren  all,  their  father's  pride. 
Wilfrid  is  now  the  only  heir 
Of  all  liis  stratagems  and  care, 
And  destined,  darkling,  to  pursue 
Ambition's  maze  by  Oswald's  elue.** 


What  dreadful  pleasure !  there  to  stand  sublime, 
Like  shipwreckt  manner  on  desert  coast.'' 

Beattie's  Minstrei  j 
1  [liis.— "  Was  love,  but  friendship  in  his  phrase."] 
a  ["  The  prototype  of  Wilfred  may  perhaps  be  found  in 
Beattie's  Edwin;  but  in  some  essential  i*espects  it  is  made 


IKTO  I.J  KOKEBY.  61 

xxvn. 

"Wilfrid  must  love  and  woo  *  the  bright 
Matilda,  heir  of  Rokeby's  knight. 
To  love  her  was  an  easy  best, 
The  secret  empress  of  his  breast ; 
To  woo  her  was  a  harder  task 
To  one  that  durst  not  hope  or  ask. 
Yet  all  Matilda  could,  she  gave 
In  pity  to  her  gentle  slave  ; 
Friendship,  esteem,  and  fair  regard, 
And  praise,  the  poet's  best  reward  ! 
She  read  the  tales  his  taste  approved. 
And  sung  the  lays  he  framed  or  loved ; 
Yet,  loath  to  nurse  the  fatal  flame 
Of  hopeless  love  in  friendship's  name, 


more  true  to  nature  than  that  which  probably  served  for  its 
original.  The 2}ossibility  may  perhaps  be  questioned  (its  great 
improbability  is  unquestionable)  of  such  excessive  refinement, 
such  overstrained,  and  even  morbid  sensibility,  as  are  por- 
trayed in  the  character  of  Edwin,  existing  in  so  rude  a  state 
of  society  as  tliat  which  Beattie  has  represented, — but  these 
quahties,  even  when  fuund  in  the  most  advanced  and  polished 
stages  of  life,  are  rarely,  verj'  rarely,  united  with  a  robust 
and  heakhy  frame  of  body.  In  both  these  particulars,  the 
character  of  Wilfrid  is  exempt  from  the  objections  to  which 
we  think  that  of  the  iMinstrel  liable.  At  the  period  of  the 
Civil  Wars,  in  the  higher  orders  of  society,  intellectual  refine- 
ment had  advanced  to  a  degree  suflScient  to  give  probability 
to  its  exisfcjnce.  The  remainder  of  our  argument  will  be 
'oest  explained  by  the  beautiful  lines  of  the  poet,"  (stanza 
XXV.  and  xxvi.) — Critical  Review.] 
1  [MS. — "  And  first  must  Wilfrid  woo,"  &c.] 


62  V  ROKEBY.  [CA.NTO  I 

In  kind  caprice  slie  oft  withdrew 
The  favouring  glance  to  friendship  due,* 
Then  grieved  to  see  her  victim's  pain, 
And  gave  the  dangerous  smiles  again. 

XXVIII. 

So  did  the  suit  of  AYilfrid  stand, 
When  war's  loud  summons  waked  the  land. 
Three  banners,  floating  o'er  the  Tees, 
The  woe-foreboding  peasant  sees  ; 
In  concert  oft  thej  braved  of  old 
The  bordering  Scot's  mcursion  bold : 
Frowning  defiance  in  their  pride,"^ 
Their  vassals  now  and  lords  divide. 
From  his  fair  hall  on  Greta  banks. 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  led  his  ranks, 
To  aid  the  vahant  northern  Earls, 
Who  drew  the  sword  for  royal  Charles. 
Mortham,  by  marriage  near  allied, — 
His  sister  had  been  Rokeby's  bride, 
Though  long  before. the  civil  fray. 
In  peaceful  grave  the  lady  lay, — 
Philip  of  Mortham  raised  his  band. 
And  march'd  at  Fairfax's  command  ; 
Wliile  WyclifFe,  bound  by.  many  a  train 
Of  kindred  art  with  wily  Vane, 

1  [MS.—"  The  fuel  fond  her  favour  threw."] 
i*  [MS  — "  Now  frowning  dark  on  different  side, 
Their  vassals  and  their  lords  divide."] 


CASTO  I.J  ROKLBr.  63 

Less  prompt  to  brave  the  bloody  field, 
Made  Barnard*s  battlements  his  shield, 
Secured  them  with  his  Lunedale  powers, 
And  for  the  Commons  held  the  towers. 

XXIX. 

The  lovely  heir  of  Rokebj's  Knight  * 
Waits  in  his  halls  the  event  of  fight ; 
For  England's  war  rever'd  the  claim 
Of  eveiy  unprotected  name, 
And  spared,  amid  its  fiercest  rage, 
Childhood  and  womanhood  and  age. 
But  Wilfrid,  son  to  Rokeby's  foe,^ 
Must  the  dear  privilege  forego, 
By  Greta's  side,  in  evening  gray, 
To  steal  upon  Matilda's  way. 
Striving,^  with  fond  hypocrisy, 
For  careless  step  and  vacant  eye ; 
Calming  each  anxious  look  "and  glance. 
To  give  the  meeting  all  to  chance. 
Or  framing  as  a  fair  excuse, 
The  book,  the  pencil,  or  the  muse ; 

1  [MS.—**  Dame  Alice  and  Matilda  bright. 

Daughter  and  wife  of  Rokeby's  Knigfat, 
Wait  in  his  Iialls,"  &c-] 

2  [MS  — "  But  Wilfrid,  when  the  strife  arose, 

And  Eokeby  and  his  son  were  foes, 
Was  doom'd  e:'.eh  privilege  to  lose, 
Of  kindred  friendship  ana  the  muse."] 
>  [JIS. — "  Aping,  with  fond  hypocrisy, 
The  careless  steix  *'  &c.l 


34  ROKEBY.  [CASTO  L 

Something  to  give,  to  sing,  to  say, 
Some  modern  tale,  some  ancient  lay. 
Then,  while  the  long'd-for  minutes  last,— - 
Ah  !  minutes  quickly  overpast ! — ^ 
Eecording  each  expression  free. 
Of  kind  or  careless  courtesy. 
Each  friendly  look,  each  softer  tone, 
As  food  for  fancy  when  alone. 
All  this  is  o'er — but  still,  unseen, 
Wilfrid  may  lurk  in  Eastwood  green,^ 
To  watch  Matilda's  wonted  round. 
While  springs  his  heart  at  every  sound. 
She  comes ! — 'tis  but  a  passing  sight. 
Yet  serves  to  cheat  his  weary  night ; 
She  comes  not — He  will  wait  the  hour, 
When  her  lamp  hghtens  in  the  tower  j  * 
'Tis  something  yet,  if,  as  she  past. 
Her  shade  is  o'er  the  lattice  cast. 
"  What  is  my  life,  my  hope  ?  "  he  said ; 
"  Alas !  a  transitory  shade." 

XXX. 

Thus  wore  liis  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love, 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present  woe  and  ills  to  come, 

1  [The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet.] 

2  f  MS.— "  Mav  Wilfrid  haunt  the  )  .^^„^,^,,  _,^„  m 
••  ,  ,     '  ^  ( thickets  green."] 

Wilfrid  haunts  Scargill's  |  ^  •• 

«  [MS.- "  watch  the  hour 

That  her  lamp  kindles  iu  her  tower."] 


CAsrro  I.]  ROKEBT.  65 

Wliile  still  he  tum'd  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intrusive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indifferent,  and  subdued. 
In  all  but  this,  unmov'd  he  view'd 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good : 
But  AVilfrid,  docile,  soft,  and  mild, 
Was  Fancy's  spoil'd  and  wavward  child ; 
In  her  bright  ^  car  she  bade  him  ride, 
With  one  fair  form  to  grace  his  side, 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat,^ 
Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat. 
Bathed  in  her  dews  his  languid  head, 
Her  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  spread. 
For  him  her  opiates  gave  to  flow, 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
And  placed  him  in  her  circle,  free 
From  every  stern  reality, 
Till,  to  the  Visionar}-,  seem 
Her  daydreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 

XXXI. 

Woe  to  the  youth  whom  Fancy  gains, 
Winning  from  Reason's  hand  the  reins, 

I  [MS.--  WiU  car."] 

'  [MS. — "  Or  in  some  fair  but  lone  retreat, 

Flung  her  wild  spells  around  his  seat. 
For  him  her  opiates  j  gave  to  i 

opiate  J  draughts  bade  \  ^°^' 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
Taught  him  to  turn  impatient  ear 
From  truth's  intrusive  voice  severe."] 
^01..    TV.  5 


S6  ROKEBr.  '^CANTO  L 

Pity  and  woe  !  for  such  a  mind 
Is  soft,  contemplative,  and  kind ; 
And  woe  to  those  who  train  such  youth, 
And  spare  to  press  the  rights  of  truth, 
The  mind  to  strengthen  and  anneal. 
While  on  the  stithy  glows  the  steel ! 
O  teach  him,  while  your  lessons  last. 
To  judge  the  present  by  the  past ; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  pursued, 
How  ricli  it  glow'd  with  promised  good ; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  enjoy'd, 
How  soon  his  hopes  possession  cloy'd ! 
Tell  him,  we  play  unequal  game. 
Whene'er  we  shoot  by  Fancy's  aim  ;  * 
And,  ere  he  strip  him  for  her  race, 
Show  the  conditions  of  the  chase. 
Two  sisters  by  the  goal  are  set. 
Cold  Disappointment  and  Regret ; 
One  disenchants  the  winner's  eyes, 
And  strips  of  all  its  worth  the  prize. 
Wliile  ore  augments  its  gaudy  show, 
More  to  enhance  the  loser's  woe.^ 


A  [In  the  MS.,  after  this  couplet,  the  following  lines  oon- 
Vade  the  stanza : — 

"  That  all  who  on  her  visions  press, 
Find  disappointment  dog  success; 
But,  miss'd  their  wish,  lamenting  hold 
Her  gilding  false  for  sterling  gold."] 
2  ["  Soft  and  smooth  are  Fancy's  flowery  ways. 
And  yet,  even  there,  if  left  without  a  guide. 
The  youngs  adventurer  unsafely  plays. 


CABTO  L]  ROKEBT.  67 

The  victor  sees  his  fairy  gold, 
Transformed,  when  won,  to  drossy  mold, 
But  still  the  vanquish'd  mourns  his  loss, 
And  rues,  as  gold,  that  glittering  dross. 

XXXII. 

IMore  wouldst  thou  know — yon  tower  survey, 
Yon  couch  unpress'd  since  paiting  day, 
Yon  uutrimm'd  lamp,  whose  yellow  gleam 
Is  mingUng  with  tlie  cold  moonbeam, 
And  yon  thin  form  I — the  hectic  red 
On  his  pale  cheek  unequal  spread ;  ^ 


Eyes,  dazzled  long  by  Fiction's  gandy  rays, 
In  modest  Truth  no  light  nor  beauty  find; 
And  who,  my  child,  would  trust  the  meteor-blaze 
That  soon  must  fail,  and  leave  the  wanderer  blind. 
More  dark  and  helpless  far,  than  if  it  ne'er  had  shined? 

"  Fancy  enervates,  while  It  soothes,  the  heart, 
And,  while  it  dazzles,  wounds  the  mental  sight: 
To  joy  each  heightening  charm  it  can  impart, 
But  wraps  the  hour  of  woe  in  tenfold  night- 
And  often,  where  no  real  ills  affright, 
Its  visionary  fiends,  an  endless  train, 
Assail  with  equal  or  superior  might, 
And  through  the  throbbing  heart,  and  dizzy  brain, 
Aud  shivering  nerves,  shoot  stings  of  more  than  mortal 
pain."  Beattie.] 

1  [MS. — "  On  his  pale  cheek  in  crimson  glow; 
The  short  and  painful  sighs  that  show 
The  shrivell'd  lip,  the  teeth's  white  row, 
The  head  reclined,"  &c.] 


68  ROKEBT.  [CAMTO  I. 

The  head  rech'ned,  the  loosen'd  hair, 
The  limbs  relax'd,  the  mournful  air.— 
See,  he  looks  up  ; — a  woful  smile 
Lightens  his  wo-wom  cheek  awhile, — 
'Tis  Fancy  wakes  some  idle  thouglit. 
To  gild  the  ruin  she  has  wrought ; 
For,  like  the  bat  of  Indian  brakes, 
Her  pinions  fan  the  wound  she  makes, 
And  soothing  thus  the  dreamer's  pain. 
She  drinks  his  lifeblood  from  the  vein.* 
Now  to  the  lattice  turn  his  eyes, 
Vain  hope !  to  see  the  sun  arise. 
The  moon  with  clouds  is  still  o'ercast, 
Still  howls  by  fits  the  stormy  blast ; 
Another  hour  must  wear  away. 
Ere  the  East  kindle  into  day, 
And  hark !  to  waste  that  weary  hour, 
He  tries  the  minstreFs  magic  power. 

xxxin. 

SONG. 
TO  THB  MOON.* 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam, 
Pale  pilgrim  of  the  troubled  sky ! 
Hail,  though  the  mists  that  o'er  thee  stream 

'  [MS. "  the  sleeper's  pain, 

Drinks  his  dear  lifeblood  from  the  vein."] 

*  ["  The  little  poem  that  follows  is,  in  our  judgment,  one 
of  the  best  of  Mr.  Scott's  attempts  in  this  kind.  He  cer- 
tainly is  not  in  general  successful  as  a  song- writer;   bu^ 


3A5TO  I.]  KOKEBY.  69 

Lend  to  thy  brow  their  sullen  dye  !  ^ 
How  should  thy  pure  and  peaceful  eye 

Untroubled  view  our  scenes  below, 
Or  how  a  tearless  beam  supply 

To  light  a  world  of  war  and  wo  ! 

Fair  Queen  !  I  will  not  blame  thee  now, 

As  once  by  Greta's  fairy  side  ; 
Each  httle  cloud  that  dimm'd  thy  brow 

Did  then  an  angel's  beauty  hide. 
And  of  the  shades  I  then  could  chide, 

Still  are  the  thoughts  to  memory  dear. 
For,  while  a  softer  strain  I  tried. 

They  hid  my  blush,  and  calm'd  my  fear. 

Then  did  I  sweai*  thy  ray  serene 

Was  form'd  to  hght  some  lonely  dell, 
By  two  fond  lovers  only  seen. 

Reflected  from  the  crystal  well. 
Or  sleeping  on  their  mossy  cell. 

Or  quivering  on  the  lattice  bright. 
Or  glancing  on  their  couch,  to  tell 

How  swiftly  wanes  the  summer  night  I 

withont  any  extraordinary  effort,  here  are  pleasing  tbonghta, 
polished  expressions,  and  musical  versification." — Monthly 
Review.'] 
1  [MS. — "  Are  tarnishing  thy  lovely  dye  I 
A  sad  excuse  let  Fancy  try — 

How  should  so  kind  a  planet  show 
Her  stainless  silver's  lustre  high, 
To  light  a  world  of  war  and  wo!"] 


70  ROKEBT.  [cA>TO  L 

XXXIV. 

He  starts — a  step  at  this  lone  Lour ! 
A  voice  ! — his  father  seeks  the  tower, 
With  haggard  look  and  troubled  sense, 
Fresh  from  his  dreadful  conference. 
"  Wilfrid  ! — what,  not  to  sleep  address*d  ? 
Thou  hast  no  cares  to  chase  thy  rest. 
Mortham  has  fall'n  on  Marston-moor ;  * 
Bertram  brings  warrant  to  secure 
His  treasures,  bought  by  spoil  and  blood, 
For  the  state's  use  and  pubhc  good. 
The  menials  will  thy  voice  obey ; 
Let  his  commission  have  its  way,^ 
In  every  point,  in  every  word." — 
Then,  in  a  whisper, — "  Take  thy  sword ! 
Bertram  is — what  I  must  not  tell. 
I  hear  his  hasty  step — farewell ! "  ' 

1  [MS. — "  Here's  Risingham  brings  tidings  sure, 

Mortham  has  fallen  on  Marston  Moor; 
And  he  hath  warrant  to  secure,"  &c.J 

2  [MS. — "  See  that  they  give  his  warrant  way."] 

8  ["  We  cannot  close  the  first  Canto  without  bestowing  the 
highest  praise  on  it.  The  whole  design  of  the  picture  is  ex- 
cellent; and  the  contrast  presented  to  the  gloomy  and  fearful 
opening  by  the  calm  and  innocent  conclusion,  is  masterly. 
Never  were  two  characters  more  clearly  and  forcibly  set  in 
opposition  than  those  of  Bertram  and  Wilfrid.  Oswald  com- 
pletes the  group ;  and,  for  the  moral  purposes  of  the  painter. 
is  perhaps  superior  to  the  others.    He  is  admirably  desi^gfned 

'  That  middle  course  to  steer 

To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear.'  " 

Monthly  Review. \ 


ROKEBT. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


ROKEBY 


CANTO    SECOND. 


I. 

Far  in  the  chiunbei-s  of  the  west, 
The  gale  had  sigh'd  itself  to  rest ; 
The  moon  was  cloudless  now  and  clear. 
But  pale,  and  soon  to  disappear. 
The  thin  grey  clouds  wax  dimly  light 
On  Brusleton  and  Houghton  height ; 
And  the  rich  dale,  that  eastward  lay, 
Waited  the  wakening  touch  of  day, 
To  give  its  woods  and  cultured  plain, 
And  towers  and  spires,  to  light  again. 
But,  westward,  Stanmore's  shapeless  swell. 
And  Lunedale  wild,  and  Kelton-fell, 
And  rock-begirdled  Gilraanscar, 
And  Arkingarth,  lay  dark  afar ; 
While,  as  a  hveher  twilight  falls, 
Emerge  proud  Barnard's  banner'd  walls. 
High  crown'd  he  sits,  in  dawning  pale, 
The  sovereign  of  the  lovely  vale. 


74  ROKEBY,  [CANTO  II. 

II. 

What  prospects,  from  his  watch-tower  high, 
Gleam  gradual  on  the  warder's  eye  ! — 
Far  sweeping  to  the  east,  he  sees 
Down  his  deep  woods  the  course  of  Tees,^ 
And  tracks  his  wanderings  by  the  steam 
Of  summer  vapours  from  the  stream ; 
And  ere  he  pace  his  destined  hour 
By  Brackenbury's  dungeon-tower,^ 
These  silver  mists  shall  melt  away, 
And  dew  the  woods  with  glittering  spray. 
Then  in  broad  lustre  shall  be  shown 
That  mighty  trench  of  living  stone,* 
And  each  huge  trunk  that,  from  the  side, 
Reclines  him  o'er  the  darksome  tide, 

1  The  view  from  Barnard  Castle  commands  the  rich  and 
magnificent  valley  of  Tees.  Immediately  adjacent  to  the 
river,  the  banks  are  very  thickly  wooded ;  at  a  little  distance 
they  are  more  open  and  cultivated;  but,  being  interspersed 
with  hedgerows,  and  with  isolated  trees  of  great  size  and  age, 
they  still  retain* the  richness  of  woodland  scenery.  The  river 
itself  flows  in  a  deep  trench  of  solid  rock,  chiefly  limestone 
and  marble.  The  finest  view  of  its  romantic  course  is  from 
a  handsome  modern  built  bridge  over  the  Tees,  by  the  late 
Mr.  Morritt  of  Rokeby.  In  Leland's  time,  the  marble  quarries 
seem  to  have  been  of  some  value.  "  Hard  under  the  cliff  by 
Egleston,  is  found  on  eche  side  of  Tese  very  fair  marble,  wont 
to  be  taken  up  booth  by  marhelers  of  Barnardes  Castelle  and 
of  Egleston,  and  partly  to  have  been  wrought  by  them,  and 
partly  sold  onwrought  to  others." — Itinerary.  Oxford,  1768, 
8vo.  p.  88. 

2  [MS. — *'  Betwixt  the  gate  and  Baliol's  tower."] 

8  [MS . — '  Those  deep-hewn  banks  of  living  stone."]  - 


CAHTO  n.J  ROKEBY.  75 

Where  Tees,  full  many  a  faihom  low, 
Wears  with  his  rage  no  common  foe ; 
For  pebbly  bank,  nor  sand-bed  here, 
Nor  clay-raound,  checks  his  fierce  career. 
Condemn VI  to  mine  a  channell'd  way. 
O'er  solid  sheets  of  marble  gray. 

III. 
Nor  Tees  alone,  in  dawning  bright, 
Shall  rush  upon  the  ravish'd  sight ; 
But  many  a  tributaiy  stream 
Each  from  its  own  dark  dell  shall  gleam : 
Staindrop,  who,  from  her  sylvan  bowers,^ 
Salutes  proud  Raby's  battled  towers  ; 
The  rural  brook  of  Egliston, 
And  Balder,  named  from  Odin's  son  ; 
And  Greta,  to  whose  banks  ere  long 
We  lead  the  lovers  of  the  song  ; 
And  silver  Lune,  from  Stanmore  wild. 
And  fairy  Thorsgill's  murmuring  child. 
And  last  andJeast,  but  loveliest  still. 
Romantic  Deepdale's  slender  rill. 
Who  in  that  dim-wood  glen  hath  stray'd. 
Yet  long  d  for  Roslin's  magic  glade  ? 
Who,  wandering  there,  hath  sought  to  change 
Even  for  that  vale  so  stern  and  strange. 
Where  Cartland's  Crags,  fantastic  rent, 
Through  her  green  copse  like  spires  are  sent  ? 

A  [MS. — "  Staindrop,  who,  on  her  sylvan  way, 
Salutes:  proud  Raby's  turrets  gray."] 


76  ROKEBY.  [CASTO  n. 

Yet,  Albin,  yet  the  praise  be  thine, 

Thy  scenes  and  story  to  combine  ! 

Thou  bid'st  him,  who  by  Roslin  strays. 

List  to  the  deeds  of  other  days ;  ^ 

'Mid  Cartland's  Crags  thou  show'st  the  cave, 

The  refuge  of  thy  champion  brave ;  ^ 

Giving  each  rock  its  storied  tale, 

Pouring  a  lay  for  every  dale, 

Knitting,  as  with  a  moral  band, 

Thy  native  legends  with  thy  land, 

To  lend  each  scene  the  interest  high 

Which  genius  beams  from  Beauty's  eye. 

IV. 

Bertram  awaited  not  the  sight 

Which  sunrise  shows  from  Barnard's  height. 

But  from  the  towers,  preventing  day, 

With  Wilfrid  took  his  early  way, 

While  misty  dawn,  and  moonbeam  pale, 

Still  mingled  in  the  silent  dale. 

By  Barnard's  bridge  of  stately  stone. 

The  southern  bank  of  Tees  they  won  ; 

Their  winding  path  then  eastward  cast, 

And  Eghston's  gray  ruins  pass'd  ;  * 


•  [See  notes  to  the  song  of  Fair  Rosabelle,  in  the  Lay  ol 
Ihe  Last  M"'f;trel,  voL  i    p.  199.] 

2  ( Cartland  Crags,  near  Lanark,  celebrated  as  among  the 
favourite  retreats  of  Sir  William  Wallace.] 

8  The  ruins  of  this  abbey,  or  priory  (for  Tanner  calls  it  tho 
V)rraor,  and  Leland  the  latter,)  are  beautifully  situated  upon 


CASTO  n.]  EOKEBY.  77 

Each  on  his  own  deep  visions  bent, 
Silent  and  sad  they  onward  went. 
Well  may  you  think  that  Bertram's  mood,* 
To  Wilfrid  savage  seem'd  and  rude ; 
Well  may  you  think  bold  Risingham 
Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame ; 
And  small  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 
Such  uncongenial  souls  between. 

V. 

Stem  Bertram  shunn'd  the  nearer  way, 
Through  Rokeby's  park  and  chase  that  lay, 
And,  skirting  high  the  valley's  ridge. 
They  cross'd  by  Greta's  ancient  bridge. 
Descending  where  her  waters  wind 
Free  for  a  space  and  unconfined, 
As,  'scaped  from  Brignall's  dark-wood  glen. 
She  seeks  wild  Mortham's  deeper  den. 

the  angle  formed  by  a  little  dell  called  Thorsgill,  at  its  jnnc- 
tion  with  the  Tees.     A  good  part  of  the  religious  house  is 
still  in  some  degree  habitable,  but  the  church  is  in  ruins. 
Eglistone  was  dedicated  to  St.  Mary  and  St.  John  the  Bap- 
tist, and  is  supposed  to  have  been  founded  by  Ralph  de  Mul- 
ton  about  the  end  of  Henrj'  the  Second's  reign.     There  were 
formerly  the  tombs  of  the  families  of  Rokeby,  Bowes,  and 
Fitz-Hugh. 
1  [MS  — "  For  brief  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 
Such  uncongenial  souls  between; 
Well  may  you  think  stem  Risingham 
Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame; 
And  nought  of  mutual  interest  lay 
To  bind  the  comrades  of  the  way."] 


78  ROKEBY.  [CAMTO  II 

There,  as  his  eye  glanced  o*er  the  mound, 
Raised  by  that  Legion  ^  long  renown*d, 
Whose  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim. 
Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame, 
"  Stern  sons  of  war !  "  sad  Wilfrid  sigh'd, 
*'  Behold  the  boast  of  Roman  pride  ! 
What  now  of  all  your  toils  are  known  ? 
A  grassy  trench,  a  broken  stone  !  " — 
This  to  himself;  for  moral  strain 
To  Bertram  were  address'd  in  vain. 

VI. 

Of  different  mood,  a  deeper  sigh 
Awoke,  when  Rokeby's  turrets  high  " 


1  Close  behind  the  George  Inn  at  Greta  Bridge,  there  is  a 
well  preserved  Roman  encampment,  surrounded  with  a  triple 
ditch,  lying  between  the  River  Greta  and  a  brook  called  the 
Tutta.  The  four  entrances  are  easily  to  be  discerned.  Very 
many  Roman  altars  and  monuments  have  been  found  in  the 
vicinity,  most  of  ■which  are  preserved  at  Rokeby  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Morritt.  Among  others  is  a  small  votive  altar,  with  the 
inscription,  leg.  vi.  vie.  p.  F.  f.,  which  has  been  rendered, 
Legio.  Sexta.  Victrix.  Pia.  FortU.  FiJelis. 

2  This  ancient  manor  long  gave  name  to  a  family  by  whom 
it  is  said  to  have  been  possessed  from  the  Conquest  downward, 
aud  who  are  at  different  times  distinguished  in  history.  It 
was  the  Baron  of  Rokeby  who  finally  defeated  the  insurrec- 
tion of  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  tempore  Hen.  IV.,  of 
which  Holinshed  gives  the  following  account.  "The  King, 
advertised  hereof,  caused  a  great  armie  to  be  assembled,  and 
lame  forward  with  the  same  towards  his  enemies ;  but  yer 
the  King  came  to  Nottingham,  Sir  Thomas  or  (as  other  copies 
Uaue)  Sir  Rafe  Rokesbie,  Shirift'e  of  York>^shire,  asstmbled 


CAKTO  n.]  ROKEBT.  79 

Were  northward  in  the  dawning  seen 
To  rear  them  o*er  the  thicket  green. 

the  forces  of  the  count  rie  to  resist  the  Earle  and  his  power 
coming  to  Grimbautbrig«,  beside  Knaresborough,  there  to 
stop  them  the  passage;  but  they  returning  aside,  got  to 
Weatherbie,  and  so  to  Tadcasrer,  and  finally  came  forward 
unto  Bramliam  moor,  near  to  Haizlewood,  where  they  chc^e 
their  ground  meet  to  fight  upon.  The  Shirifle  was  as  readie 
to  giue  battel!  as  the  Krie  to  receiue  it;  and  so  with  a  stand- 
ard of  S.  George  spread,  set  fiercelie  vpon  the  Earle,  who, 
vnder  a  standard  of  his  owne  amies,  encountered  his  aduersa- 
ries  with  great  manhood.  There  was  a  sore  incounter  and 
cruell  conflict  betwixt  the  parties,  but  in  the  end  the  victorie 
fell  to  the  Shiriflfe.  The  Lord  Bardolfe  was  taken,  but  sore 
wounded,  so  that  he  shortHe  after  died  of  the  hurts.  As  for 
the  Earle  of  Northumberland,  he  was  slain  outright ;  so  that 
now  the  prophecy  was  fulfilled,  which  gaue  an  inkling  of  this 
his  heauy  hap  long  before,  namelie, 

*  Stirps  Persitina  periet  confusa  ruina.' 
For  this  Earle  was  the  stocke  and  maine  root  of  all  that  were 
left  aliue,  called  by  the  name  of  Persie;  and  of  manie  more 
by  diners  slaughters  dispatched.  For  whose  misfortune  th* 
people  were  not  a  little  sorrie,  making  report  of  the  gentle- 
man's valiantnesse,  renowne,  and  honour,  and  applieing  vnto 
bim  certeine  lamentable  verses  out  of  Lucaine,  saieng, 

'  Sed  nos  nee  sanguis,  uec  tantura  vuluera  no=tri 

Afi'ecere  senis :  quantum  gestata  per  urbem 

Ora  duels,  quae  transfix©  subliinia  pilo 

Vidimus.*  Sib.  ix.,  v.  136. 
For  his  head,  full  of  siluer  horie  haires,  being  put  upon  a 
stake,  was  openlie  carried  through  London,  and  set  vpon  the 
liridge  of  the  same  citie;  in  like  manner  was  the  Lord  Bar- 
dolfes." — Hou^jshed's  Chronicles.  Lond.  1808,  4to.  iii.  45. 
The  Rokeby,  or  Rokesby  family,  continued  to  be  distinguished 
until  the  grtat  Civil  War,  when,  having  embraced  the  cause 
»f  Ch:u"les  L,  they  sufiered  severely  by  fines  and  confiscation* 


80  ROKEBY.  [CAUTO  n 

0  then,  though  Spenser's  self  had  stray*d 
Beside  him  througli  tlie  lovely  glade, 
Lending  his  rich  luxuriant  glow 
Of  fancy,  all  its  charms  to  show, 
Pointing  the  stream  rejoicing  free, 
As  captive  set  at  liberty, 
Flashing  her  sparkling  waves  abroad,^ 
And  clamouring  joyful  on  her  road  ; 
Pointing  where,  up  the  sunny  banks, 
The  trees  retire  in  scatter'd  ranks, 
Save  where,  advanced  before  the  rest. 
On  knoll  or  hillock  rears  his  crest, 
Lonely  and  huge,  the  giant  Oak, 
As  champions,  when  their  band  is  broke. 
Stand  forth  to  guard  the  rearward  post, 
The  bulwark  of  the  scatter'd  host — 
All  tills,  and  more,  might  Spenser  say. 
Yet  waste  in  vain  his  magic  lay, 
While  Wilfrid  eyed  the  distant  tower, 
Whose  lattice  hghts  Matilda's  bower. 

VII. 

The  open  vale  is  soon  pass'd  o'er, 
Rokeby,  though  nigh,  is  seen  no  more  ;  ^ 

1  \e  estate  then  passed  from  its  ancient  possessors  to  the  fam- 
1y  of  the  Robinsons,  from  whom  it  was  purchased  by  the 
fether  of  my  valued  friend,  the  present  proprietor. 
1  [MS. — "  Fhishing  to  heaven  her  sparkling  spray, 
And  clamouring  joyful  on  her  way."] 
-=%    *  [MS. — "And  Rokeby's  tower  is  seen  no  more; 
Sinking  mid  Greta's  thickets  green, 
The  journeyers  seek  another  scene."] 


CANTO  n.]  KOKEBY.  81 

SinJcing  mid  Greta's  thickets  deep, 
A  wild  and  darker  course  they  keep, 
A  stern  and  lone,  yet  lovely  road, 
As  e'er  the  foot  of  Minstrel  trode  !  * 


1  What  follows  is  an  attempt  to  describe  the  romantic  glen, 
or  rather  ravine,  through  •which  the  Greta  finds  a  passage 
between  Rokeby  and  Mortham ;  the  former  situated  upon  the 
left  bank  of  Gretiv,  the  latter  on  the  right  bank,  about  half  a 
mile  nearer  to  its  junction  with  the  Tees.  The  river  runs 
with  very  great  rapidity  over  a  bed  of  sohd  rock,  broken  by 
many  shelving  descents,  down  which  the  stream  dashes  with 
great  noise  and  impetuosity,  vindicating  its  etymology,  which 
has  been  derived  from  the  Gothic,  Gridan,  to  clamour.  The 
banks  partake  of  the  same  wild  and  romantic  character,  being 
chiefly  lofty  cliffs  of  limestone  rock,  whose  gray  colour  con- 
trasts admirably  with  the  various  trees  and  shrubs  which  find 
root  among  their  crevices,  as  well  as  with  the  hue  of  the  ivy, 
which  clings  around  them  in  profusion,  and  hangs  down  from 
their  projections  in  long  sweeping  tendrils.  At  other  points 
the  rocks  give  place  to  precipitous  banks  of  earth,  bearing 
large  trees  uitermixed  with  copsewood.  In  one  spot  the  dell, 
which  is  elsewhere  very  narrow,  widens  for  a  space  to  leave 
room  for  a  dark  grove  of  yew-trees,  intermixed  here  and 
there  with  aged  pines  of  uncommon  size.  Directly  opposite 
to  this  sombre  thicket,  the  cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Greta  are  tall,  white,  and  fringed  with  all  kinds  of  deciduous 
shrubs.  The  whole  scenery  of  this  spot  is  so  much  adapted 
to  the  ideas  of  superstition,  that  it  has  acquired  the  name  of 
Blockula,  from  the  place  where  the  Swedish  witches  were 
supposed  to  hold  their  Sabbath.  The  dell,  however,  has 
superstitions  of  its  own  growth,  for  it  is  supposed  to  be  haunted 
by  a  female  spectre,  called  the  Dobie  of  Mortham.  The 
<ause  assigned  for  her  appearance  is  a  lady's  baring  been 
whilom  murdered  in  the  wood,  in  evidence  of  which,  hei 
blood  is  shown  upon  the  stairs  of  the  old  tower  at  Morthanx 
VOL.    IV.  6 


82  ROlvEBT.  [CAN-l'O  n 

Broad  .shadows  o'er  their  passage  fell, 

Deeper  and  narrower  grew  the  dell ; 

It  seera'd  some  mountain,  rent  and  riven, 

A  channel  for  the  stream  had  given, 

So  high  the  cliffs  of  limestone  gi'ay 

Hung  beetling  o'er  the  torrent's  way, 

Yielding,  along  their  rugged  base,^ 

A  riiniy  footpath's  niggard  space, 

Where  lie,  who  winds  'twixt  rock  and  wave, 

May  liear  the  headlong  torrent  rave, 

And  like  a  steed  in  frantic  fit, 

That  flings  the  froth  from  curb  and  bit,* 

May  view  her  chafe  her  waves  to  spray. 

O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  way. 

Till  foam-globes  on  her  eddies  ride. 

Thick  as  the  schemes  of  human  pride 

That  dowm  life's  current  drive  amain, 

As  frail,  as  frothy,  and  as  vain  ! 

But  whether  she  was  slain  by  a  jealous  husband,  or  by  sav- 
age banditti,  or  by  an  uncle  who  coveted  her  estate,  or  by  a 
rejected  lover,  are  points  upon  which  the  traditions  of  Rokebj 
lo  not  enable  us  to  decide. 
1  [MS. — "  Yielding  their  rugged  base  beside 

^  InlggLIP^^'^^y^^"'^'''^^"-"^ 
3  [MS.—"  That  flings  the  foam  from  curb  and  bit, 

(tawny    s 
whiten  i  wrath, 
spungy  ; 
O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  path, 
i  ill  down  her  boiling  eddies  ride,"  &c.] 


OAHTO  n.]  ROKEBT.  83 

VIII. 

The  cliffs  that  rear  their  haughty  head 
High  o'er  the  river's  darksome  bed, 
Were  now  all  naked,  wild,  and  gray. 
Now  waving  all  with  greenwood  spray; 
Here  trees  to  eveiy  crevice  clung, 
And  o'er  the  dell  their  branches  hung  • 
And  there,  all  splinter'd  and  uneven. 
The  shiver'd  rocks  ascend  to  heaven ; 
Oft,  too,  the  ivy  swathed  their  breast,* 
And  wreathed  its  garland  round  their  crest. 
Or  from  the  spires  bade  loosely  flare 
Its  tendrils  in  the  middle  air, 
As  pennons  wont  to  wave  of  old 
O'er  the  high  feast  of  Baron  bold. 
When  revell'd  loud  the  feudal  rout. 
And  the  arch'd  halls  retum'd  their  shout ; 
Such  and  more  wild  is  Greta's  roar, 
And  such  the  echoes  from  her  shore. 
And  so  the  i^^ed  banners,  frleam,^ 
Waved  wildly  o'er  the  brawling  stream. 


[MS. — '*  The  frequent  ivy  swathed  their  breast, 

And  wreathed  its  tendrils  rouud  their  crest, 
Or  from  their  summit  bade  them  fall, 
And  tremble  o'er  the  Greta's  brawl."] 

fsreen 

i  Waved  wildly  trembling  o'er  the  scene, 
\  Waved  icUd  abote  the  clamorous  stream.''  I 


B4  ROKEBT.  fcAMTO  II 

IX. 

Nov?  from  the  stream  the  rocks  recede, 

But  leave  between  no  sunny  mead, 

No,  nor  the  spot  of  pebbly  sand. 

Oft  found  by  such  a  mountain  stran  i  ;  * 

Foi-ming  such  warm  and  dry  retreat, 

As  fancy  deems  the  lonely  seat. 

Where  hermit,  wandering  from  his  cell, 

His  rosary  might  love  to  tell. 

But  here,  'twixt  rock  and  river,  grew 

A  dismal  grove  of  sable  yew,^ 

With  whose  sad  tints  were  mingled  seen 

The  bhghted  fir's  sepulchral  green. 

Seem'd  that  the  trees  their  shadows  cast 

The  earth  that  nourish'd  them  to  blast ; 

For  never  knew  tliat  swarthy  grove 

The  verdant  hue  that  fairies  love  ; 

Nor  wilding  green,  nor  woodland  flower, 

Arose  within  its  baleful  bower : 

The  dank  and  sable  earth  receives 

Its  only  carpet  from  the  leaves, 

That,  from  the  witiiering  branches  cast, 

Bestrew'd  the  ground  with  every  blast 

1  [MS. "  a  torrenVs  strand; 

Where  in  the  warm  and  dry  retreat. 
May  fancy  form  some  hermit's  seat."] 

2  [MS. — "  A  darksome  grove  of  funeral  yew, 

Where  trees  a  baleful  shadow  cast, 
The  ground  that  nourish'd  them  to  blast. 
Mingled  with  whose  sad  tints  were  seen 
The  blighted  lir's  sepulchral  green." 


CA>rO  U.]  ROKEBT.  85 

Tliough  uow  the  sun  was  o'er  the  hill, 

In  this  dark  spot  'twii.s  twihght  still,^ 

Save  that  on  Greta's  further  side 

Some  straggling  beams  through  copsewood  glide  ; 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 

That  dingle's  deep  and  funeral  shade, 

With  the  bright  tints  of  earlj  day, 

Which,  glimmering  through  the  ivy  spray, 

On  the  opposing  summit  lay. 

X. 

The  lated  peasant  shunn'd  the  dell; 

For  Superstition  wont  to  tell 

Of  many  a  grisly  sound  and  sight, 

Scaring  its  path  at  dead  of  night. 

When  Christmas  logs  blaze  high  and  wide, 

Such  wonders  speed  the  festal  tide ; 

While  Curiosity  and  Fear, 

Pleasure  and  Pain,  sit  crouching  near, 

Till  childhood's  cheek  no  longer  glows, 

And  village  maidens  lose  the  rose. 

The  thriUing  interest  rises  higher,^ 

The  circle  closes  nigh  and  nigher, 

I  [MS.—"  Ill  this  dark  grove  'twas  twilight  still. 
Save  that  upon  the  rocks  opposed 
Some  straggling  beams  of  mora  reposed. 
And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 
That  bleak  and  dark  funereal  shade 
With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day, 
Which,  struggling  through  the  greenwood  spray 
Upon  the  rock's  wild  summit  lay."] 

»  IMS.--"  The  interest  riaes  high  and  higher."] 


>  ROKEBT.  [C.LSTO   1 

And  shuddering  glance  is  cast  behind, 
As  louder  moans  the  wintry  wind. 
Believe,  that  fitting  scene  was  laid 
For  such  wild  tales  in  JMortham  glade ; 
For  who  had  seen,  on  Greta's  side, 
By  that  dim  hght  fierce  Bertram  stride, 
In  such  a  spot,  at  such  an  hour, — 
If  touch'd  by  Superstition's  power, 
Might  well  have  deemed  that  Hell  had  given 
A  murderer's  ghost  to  upper  heaven. 
While  Wihirid's  form  had  seem'd  to  glide 
Like  liis  pale  victim  by  his  side. 

XI. 

Nor  think  to  village  swains  alone 
Are  these  unearthl}'  terrors  known  ; 
For  not  to  rank  nor  sex  confined 
Is  this  vain  ague  of  the  mind  : 
Hearts  firm  as  steel,  as  marble  hard, 
'Gainst  faith,  and  love,  and  pity  barr'd, 
Have  quaked,  like  aspen  leaves  in  May, 
Beneath  its  universal  sway. 
Bertram  had  listed  many  a  tale 
Of  wonder  in  his  native  dale. 
That  in  his  secret  soul  retain'd 
The  credence  they  in  childhood  gain'd : 
Nor  less  his  wild  adventurous  youth 
Beheved  in  every  legend's  truth  ; 
Learn'd  when,  beneath  the  tropic  gale, 
Full  swell'd  the  vessel's  steady  sail. 


CAVTO  n.]  ROKEBY.  87 

And  the  broad  Indian  moon  her  light 
Pour'd  on  the  watch  of  middle  night, 
When  seamen  love  to  hear  and  tell 
Of  portent,  prodigy,  and  spell :  ^ 
What  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore,^ 
How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar," 


1  [The  MS.  has  not  the  two  following  couplets.] 

2  "  Also  I  shall  show  very  briefly  what  force  coujurere  and 
witches  have  in  constraining  the  elements  enchanted  by  them 
or  others,  that  they  may  exceed  or  fall  short  of  their  natural 
order:  premising  this,  that  the  extream  land  of  North  Fin- 
land and  Laplaud  was  so  taught  witchcraft  formerly  in 
heathenish  times,  as  if  they  had  learned  this  cursed  art  from 
Zoroastres  the  Persian ;  though  other  inhabitants  by  the  sea- 
coasts  are  reported  to  be  bewitched  with  the  same  madness; 
for  they  exercise  this  divelish  art,  of  all  the  arts  of  the  world, 
to  admiration;  and  in  this,  or  other  such  like  mischief,  they 
commonly  agree.  The  Finlanders  were  wont  formeily, 
amongst  their  other  errors  of  gentilisme,  to  sell  winds  to 
merchants  that  were  stopt  on  their  coasts  by  contraiy  weather; 
and  when  they  had  their  price,  they  knit  three  magical  knots, 
not  like  to  the  laws  of  Cassius,  bound  up  with  a  thong,  and 
they  gave  them  unto  the  merchants;  observing  that  rule,  that 
when  they  unloosed  the  first,  they  should  have  a  good  gale 
of  wind;  when  the  second,  a  stronger  wind;  but  when  they 
untied  the  third,  they  should  have  such  cruel  tempests,  that 
they  should  not  be  able  to  look  out  of  the  forecastle  to  avoid 
the  rocks,  nor  move  a  foot  to  pull  down  the  sails,  nor  stand  at 
the  helm  to  govern  the  ship;  and  they  made  an  unhappy 
trial  of  the  truth  of  it  who  denied  that  there  was  any  s  ich 
power  in  those  knots." — Olaus  ilxG^ivs's  History  of  (he  Golhs^ 
Swedes,  and  Vandals.  Lond.  1658,  fol.  p.  47. — [See  Note  to 
The  Pirate,  "  Sale  of  Winds,"  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  xxiv. 
p.  136.] 

8  [See  Appendix,  Note  D.] 


B8  KOKEBY.  [ga>-to  n. 

Of  ^itch,  of  mermaid,  and  of  sprite, 
Of  Erick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light ;  ^ 
Or  of  that  Phantom  Ship,  whose  form 
Shoots  like  a  meteor  through  the  storm ; 
When  the  dark  scud  comes  driving  hard. 
And  lower'd  is  every  topsail-yard, 
And  canvas,  wove  in  earthly  looms, 
No  more  to  brave  the  storm  presumes  ! 
Then,  'mid  the  war  of  sea  and  sky, 
Top  and  top-gallant  hoisted  high, 
Full  spread  and  crowded  every  sail. 
The  Demon  Frigate  braves  the  gale  ; ' 
And  well  the  doom'd  spectators  know 
The  harbinger  of  wreck  and  woe. 

XII. 

Then,  too,  were  told,  in  stifled  tone, 
Marvels  and  omens  all  their  own ; 

1  "  This  Ericus,  King  of  Sweden,  in  his  time  was  held 
Becond  to  none  in  the  magical  art;  and  he  was  so  familiar 
with  the  evil  spirits,  which  he  exceedingly  adored,  that  which 
way  soever  he  turned  his  cap,  the  wind  would  presently  blow 
that  W'ay.  From  this  occasion  he  was  called  Windy  Cap* 
and  many  men  believed  that  Regnerus,  King  of  Denmark,  b'y 
the  conduct  of  this  Ericus,  who  was  his  nephew,  did  happ;ly 
extend  his  piracy  into  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  earth 
and  conquered  many  countries  and  fenced  cities  by  hia  can 
ning,  and  at  last  was  his  coadjutor,  that  by  the  consent  ol 
the  nobles,  he  should  be  chosen  King  of  Sweden,  which  con- 
tinued a  long  time  with  him  very  happily,  until  he  died  0/ 
old  age," — Olaus,  ut  supra,  p.  45. 

2  [See  Appendix,  Note  E.] 


lAHTO  U-l  EOKEBT.  80 

How,  by  some  desert  isle  or  key,* 
Where  Spaniards  wrought  their  cruelty, 
Or  where  the  savage  pirate's  mood 
Repaid  it  home  in  deeds  of  blood. 
Strange  nightly  sounds  of  woe  and  fear 
Appall'd  the  listening  Buccaneer, 
Whose  light-armed  shallop  anchored  lay 
In  ambush  by  the  lonely  bay. 
The  groan  of  grief,  the  shriek  of  pain, 
Ring  from  the  moonlight  groves  of  cane  ; 
The  fierce  adventurer's  heart  they  scare, 
Who  wearies  memory  for  a  prayer, 
Curses  the  road-stead,  and  with  gale 
Of  early  morning  lifts  the  sail. 
To  give,  in  thirst  of  blood  and  prey, 
A  legend  for  another  bay. 


1  What  contributed  mnch  to  the  secnrity  of  the  Baccaneera 
about  the  Windward  Inlands,  was  the  great  number  of  little 
islets,  called  in  that  country  keys.  These  are  small  sandy 
patches,  appearing  just  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  cov- 
ered only  with  a  few  bushes  and  weeds,  but  someTimes  aflford- 
jng  springs  of  water,  and,  in  general,  much  frequented  by 
turtle.  Such  little  tininhabited  spots  afforded  the  pirates 
good  harbours,  either  for  refitting  or  for  the  purpose  of  ambush ; 
they  were  occasionally  the  hiding-place  of  their  treasure,  and 
often  afforded  a  shelter  to  themselves.  As  many  of  the 
atrocities  which  they  practised  on  their  prisoners  were  com- 
mitted in  such  sp>ot3,  there  are  some  of  these  keys  which 
oven  now  have  an  indifferent  reputation  among  seamen,  and 
where  they  are  with  diflSculty  prevailed  on  to  remain  ashore 
at  night,  on  account  of  the  visionary  terrors  incident  to  places 
which  have  been  thus  contaminated. 


90  ROKEBY.  fOASTO 

XIII. 

Thus,  as  a  man,  a  youth,  a  child, 
Train'd  in  the  mystic  and  the  wild, 
With  this  on  Bertram's  soul  at  times 
Rush'd  a  dark  feeling  of  his  crimes ; 
Such  to  his  troubled  soul  their  form, 
As  the  pale  Death-ship  to  the  storm, 
And  such  their  omen  dim  and  dread, 
As  shrieks  and  voices  of  the  dead, — 
That  pang,  whose  transitory  force  ^ 
Hover'd  'tANrixt  horror  and  remorse ; 
That  pang,  perchance,  his  bosom  press'd^ 
As  Wilfrid  sudden  he  address'd : — 
"  Wilfrid,  this  glen  is  never  trod 
Until  the  sun  rides  high  abroad ; 
Yet  twice  have  I  beheld  to-day 
A  Form,  that  seem'd  to  dog  our  way ; 
Twice  from  ray  glance  it  seem'd  to  flee, 
And  shroud  itself  by  cliff  or  tree. 
How  think'st  thou  ? — Is  our  path  waylaid  ? 
Or  hath  thy  sire  my  trust  betray'd  ? 

If  so  " Ere,  starting  from  his  dream, 

That  turn'd  upon  a  gentler  theme, 
Wilfrid  had  roused  him  to  reply, 
Bertram  sprung  forward,  shouting  high, 
"  Whate'er  thou  art,  thou  now  shalt  stand ! " 
And  fortli  he  darted,  sword  in  hand. 


1  [MS.—"  Its  fell,  though  transitory  force, 
Rovers  'twixt  pity  and  remorse."] 


tAJSTo  n.J  BOKEBY.  91 

XIV. 

As  bursts  the  levin  in  its  wrath,* 

He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path ; 

Kock,  wood,  and  stream,  rang  >\Tldl7  out, 

To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout.* 

Seems  that  the  object  of  his  race 

Hath  scal'd  the  cliffs  ;  his  frantic  chase 

Sidelong  he  tunis,  and  now  'tis  bent 

Right  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement ; 

Straining  each  sinew  to  ascend. 

Foot,  hand,  and  knee,  their  aid  must  lendL 

Wilfrid,  all  dizzy  with  dismay. 

Views,  from  beneath,  his  dreadful  way : 

Now  to  the  oak's  warp'd  roots  he  clings. 

Now  trusts  his  weight  to  ivy  strings ; 

Now,  like  the  wild  goat,  must  he  dare 

An  unsupported  leap  in  air ;  * 

Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now. 

You  mark  him  by  the  crashing  bough, 

And  by  his  corslet's  sullen  clank, 

And  by  the  stones  spum'd  from  the  bank. 

And  by  the  hawk  scar'd  from  her  nest, 

And  ravens  croaking  o'er  their  guest, 

1  [ilS.— "  As  burets  the  levin-bdi  j  |^^  |  wrath."] 

•  [MS. — "  To  h.\s  fierce  step  and  savage  shout. 

Seems  that  the  object  of  his  |    . 

Had  scal'd  the  cliflFs;  his  desperate  chase."] 
^S. — ^'*  A  desperate  leap  through  empty  air; 
Hid  in  the  cqpte-clad  rain-course  now."] 


92  ROKEBT.  [CXSTO  a 

Who  deem  liis  forfeit  limbs  shall  pay 
The  tribute  of  his  bold  essay. 

XV. 

See,  he  emerges  ! — desperate  now  * 
All  further  course — Yon  beetling  brow, 
In  craggy  nakedness  sublime, 
What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb  ? 
It  bears  no  tendril  for  his  clasp, 
Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp  : 
Sole  stay  his  foot  may  rest  upon, 
Is  yon  earth-bedded  jetting  stone. 
Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop,* 
He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 
Just  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 
By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes ! 
Beneath  his  tottering  bulk  it  bends, 
It  sways,  ...  it  loosens,  ...  it  descends ! 
And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way, 
Crashing  o'er  rock  and  copsewood  spray. 
Loud  thunders  shake  the  echoing  dell ! — 
Fell  it  alone? — alone  it  fell. 


1  [MS. — "  See,  ho  emerges !— desperate  now 
Toward  the  naked  beetling  brow, 
His  progress — heart  and  foot  must  fail 
Yon  utmost  crag's  bare  peak  to  scale."] 

«  [MS.—*'  Perch'd  like  an  eagle  on  its  top. 
Balanced  on  its  uncertain  prop. 
Just  as  the  perilous  stretch  he  makes. 
By  heaven,  his  tottering  footstool  shakes."] 


CA>TO  n]  EOKEBY.  93 

Just  on  the  very  verge  of  fate. 
The  hardy  Bertram's  falling  weight 
lie  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands, 
And  on  the  top  unharm'd  he  stands ! ' 

XVI. 

WiHrid  a  safer  path  pursued ; 

At  intervals  where,  roughly  hew'd. 

Rude  steps  ascending  from  the  deU 

Render'd  the  chffs  accessible. 

By  circuit  slow  he  thus  attain'd 

The  height  that  Risingham  had  gained, 

And  when  he  issued  from  the  wood. 

Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.* 


1  [Opposite  to  this  line  the  MS.  has  this  note,  meant  to 
amuse  Mr.  Ballantyne:  "  If  ray  readers  will  not  allow  that  I 
have  climbed  Parnassus,  they  must  grant  that  I  have  turned 
the  KiUie  Nine  Steps." — See  note  to  Kedgauntlet. — Waverley 
Novels,  vol.  XXXV.  p.  6.J 

2  The  castle  of  Mortham,  which  Leland  terms  "  Mr.  Rokes- 
by's  Place,  in  ripa  citer,  scant  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Greta 
Bridge,  and  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beneath  into  Tees,"  is  a 
picturesque  tower,  surrounded  by  buildings  of  different  ages, 
now  converted  into  a  farm-house  and  offices.  The  batile- 
ments  of  the  tower  itself  are  singularly  elegant,  the  architect 
having  broken  them  at  regular  intervals  into  different  heights ; 
while  those  at  the  comers  of  the  tower  project  into  octangular 
turrets.  They  are  also  from  space  to  space  covered  with 
stones  laid  across  them,  as  in  modem  embrasures,  the  whole 
forming  an  uncommon  and  beautiful  effect.  The  surround- 
ing buildings  are  of  a  less  happy  form,  being  pointed  into 
^igh  and  steep  roofs.  A  wall,  with  embrasures,  encloses  the 
•outhem  fi^nt,  where  a  low  portal  arch  affords  an  entry  to 


94  ROKEBY.  [CAJJTO  a. 

*Twas  a  fair  scene !  the  sunbeam  lay 
On  battled  tower  and  portal  gray : 
And  from  the  glassy  slope  he  sees 
The  Greta  flow  to  meet  the  Tees  ; 
Where,  issuing  from  her  darksome  bed, 
She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 
And  through  the  softening  vale  below 
Roll'd  her  bright  waves,  in  rosy  glow. 
All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed,-^ 
Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred ; 
While  linnet,  lark,  and  blackbird  gay,     . 
Sing  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 

XVII. 

'Twas  sweetly  sung  that  roundelay ; 
That  summer  morn  shone  blithe  and  gay ; 


what  was  the  castle-court.  At  some  distance  is  most  happily 
placed,  between  the  stems  of  two  magnificent  elms,  the  moa- 
ument  alluded  to  in  the  text.  It  is  said  to  have  been  brought 
from  the  ruins  of  Eglistone  Priory,  and,  from  the  armoury 
with  which  it  is  richly  carved,  appears  to  have  been  a  tomb 
of  the  Fitz-Hughs. 

The  situation  of  Mortham  is  eminently  beautiful,  occupy- 
ing a  high  bank,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  Greta  wiuda 
out  of  the  dark,  narrow,  and  romantic  dell,  which  the 
\ext  has  attempted  to  describe,  and  flows  onward  through 
a  more  open  valley  to  meet  the  Tees  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  castle.  Mortham  is  surrounded  by  old  trees, 
happily  and  widely  grouped  with  Mr.  Morritt's  new  plant* 
tions. 

1  [M&  — ^"  As  some  fair  maid  in  cloister  bred, 
Is  blushing  to  her  bridal  led."] 


SA^'TO  U.]  ROKEBJT.  i^O 

But  morning  beam,  and  wild-bird's  call. 
Awaked  not  Mortham's  silent  hall.^ 
No  porter,  by  the  low-brow'd  gate, 
Took  in  the  wonted  niche  his  seat ; 
To  the  paved  court  no  peasant  drew; 
Waked  to  their  toil  no  menial  crew ; 
The  maiden's  carol  was  not  heard, 
As  to  her  morning  task  she  fared  : 
In  the  void  offices  around. 
Rung  not  a  hoof,  nor  bay'd  a  hound ; 
Nor  eager  steed,  with  shrilling  neigh, 
Accused  the  lagging  groom's  delay  ; 
Untrimm'd,  undress'd,  neglected  now, 
"Was  alley'd  walk  and  orchard  bough ; 
All  spoke  the  master's  absent  care,^ 
All  spoke  neglect  and  disrepair. 
South  of  the  gate,  an  arrow  flight, 
Two  mighty  elms  their  limbs  unite. 
As  if  a  canopy,  to  spread 
O'er  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead ; 
For  their  huge  boughs  in  arches  bent 
Above  a  massive  monument, 


1  ["  The  beautiful  prospect  commanded  by  that  eminence, 
leen  under  the  cheerful  light  of  a  summer's  morning,  is  finely 
contrasted  with  the  silence  and  solitude  of  the  place." — Crit- 
wal  Review.] 

2  [MS. — "  All  spoke  the  master  absent  far, 

(  neglect  and  j 
^^^P^^Mthewoesofr'^^'^"- 
Close  by  the  gate,  an  arch  combined, 
Two  haughty  elms  their  branches  twined."] 


9G  ROKEBY.  [CAMTO  H 

Carved  o'er  in  ancient  Gothic  wise, 
"With  many  a  scutcheon  and  device : 
There,  spent  with  toil  and  sunk  in  gloom, 
Bertram  stood  pondering  by  the  tomb. 

XVIII. 

**  It  vanished,  like  a  flitting  ghost ! 

Behind  this  tomb,"  he  said,  "  'twas  lost — 

This  tomb,  where  oft  I  deem'd  lies  stored 

Of  Mortham's  Indian  wealth  the  hoard. 

'Tis  true,  the  aged  servants  said 

Here  his  lamented  wife  is  laid  ;  ^ 

But  weightier  reasons  may  be  guess'd 

For  their  Lord's  strict  and  stern  behest, 

That  none  should  on  his  steps  intrude, 

Whene'er  he  sought  this  solitude. — 

An  ancient  mariner  I  knew, 

What  time  I  sail'd  with  JMorgan'^r  crew, 

Who  oft,  'mid  our  carousals,  spake 

Of  Raleigh,  Forbisher,  and  Drake ; 

Adventurous  hearts  !  who  bai-ter'd,  bold, 

Their  English  steel  for  Spanish  gold. 

Trust  not,  would  his  experience  say, 

Captain  or  comrade  with  your  prey ; 

But  seek  seme  charnel,  when,  at  full, 

The  moon  gilds  skeleton  and  skull : 

1  [MS.—"  Here  lies  the  partner  of  lii?  bed; 

But  weightier  reasons  should  appear 
For  all  his  moonlight  wanderings  here, 
And  for  the  sharp  rebuke  they  got, 
That  pried  around  his  favourite  spot."] 


OAXTO  n.]  ROKEBY.  97 

There  dig,  and  tomb  your  precious  heap ; 
And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep  ;  * 
Sure  stewards  they,  if  fitting  spell 
Their  service  to  the  task  compel. 
Lacks  there  such  charnel  ? — kill  a  slave,* 
Or  prisoner,  on  the  treasure-gi-ave  ; 
And  bid  his  discontented  ghost 
Stalk  nightly  on  his  lonely  post. — 
Such  was  his  tale.     Its  truth,  I  ween, 
Is  in  my  morning  vision  seen." — 

XIX. 

Wilfrid,  who  scorn'd  the  legend  wild, 
In  mingled  mirth  and  pity  smiled, 
Much  marvelling  that  a  breast  so  bold 
In  such  fond  tale  belief  should  hold ; ' 

1  If  time  did  not  permit  the  Buccaneers  to  lavish  away 
their  plunder  in  their  usual  debaucheries,  they  were  wont  to 
hide  it,  with  manj'  superstitious  solemnities,  m  the  desert 
islands  and  keys  which  they  frequented,  and  where  much 
treasure,  whose  lawless  owners  perished  without  reclaiming 
it,  is  still  supposed  to  be  concealed.  The  most  cruel  of  man- 
kind are  often  the  most  superstitious ;  and  these  pirates  are 
Raid  to  have  had  recourse  to  a  horrid  ritual,  in  order  to  secure 
an  unearthly  guardian  to  their  treasures.  They  killed  a 
Negro  or  Spaniard,  and  buried  him  with  the  treasure,  believ- 
ing that  his  spirit  would  haunt  the  spot,  and  terrify  away  all 
intruders.  I  cannot  produce  any  other  authority  on  which 
this  custom  is  ascribed  to  them  than  that  of  maritime  tradi- 
lion,  which  is,  however,  amply  suflBcient  for  the  purposes  of 
>uetry. 

2  [M.S. — "  Lacks  there  such  charnel-vault? — a  slave, 

Or  prisoner,  slaughter  on  the  grave."] 
«  [MS.—"  Should  faith  in  such  a  fable  hold."] 
VOL.   IV.  7 


98  ROKEBY.  [canto  n. 

But  yet  of  Bertram  sought  to  know 
The  apparition's  form  and  show. — 
The  power  within  the  guilty  breast, 
Oft  vanquish'd,  never  quite  suppress'd, 
That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 
To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, 
And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell. 
In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell, — ^ 

1  All  who  are  conversant  with  the  administration  of  crim- 
inal justice,  must  remember  many  occasions  in  which  male- 
factors appear  to  have  conducted  themselves  with  a  species 
of  infatuation,  either  by  making  unnecessary  confidences  re- 
specting their  guilt,  or  by  sudden  and  involuntary  allusions 
to  circumstances  by  which  it  could  not  fail  to  be  exposed. 
A  remarkable  instance  occurred  in  the  celebrated  case  of 
Eugene  Aram.  A  skeleton  being  found  near  Knaresborough, 
was  supposed,  by  the  persons  who  gathered  around  the  spot, 
to  be  the  remains  of  one  Clarke,  who  had  disappeared  some 
years  before,  under  circumstances  leading  to  a  suspicion  of 
his  having  been  murdered.  One  Houseman,  who  had  min- 
gled in  the  crowd,  suddenly  said,  while  looking  at  the  skele- 
tou,  and  hearing  the  opinion  which  was  buzzed  around, 
"  That  is  no  more  Dan  Clarke's  bone  than  it  is  mine !  " — a 
sentiment  expressed  so  positively,  and  with  such  peculiarity 
of  manner,  as  to  lead  all  who  heard  him  to  infer  that  he  must 
necessarily  know  where  the  real  body  had  been  inteiTed. 
Accordingly,  being  apprehended,  he  confessed  having  assisted 
Eagcne  Aram  to  murder  Clarke,  and  to  hide  his  body  in 
Saint  Robert's  Cave.  It  happened  to  the  author  himself, 
while  conversing  with  a  person  accused  of  an  atrocious  crime, 
for  the  purpose  of  rendering  him  professional  assistance  upon 
his  trial,  to  hear  the  prisoner,  after  the  most  solemn  and  reit- 
erated protestations  that  he  was  guiltless,  suddenly,  and,  as 
it  were,  involuntarily,  in  the  course  of  his  communications, 
\nake  such  an  admission  as  was  altogether  incompatible  with 
Lmocence. 


OAOTO  n.]  ROKEBY.  99 

That  power  in  Bertram's  breast  awoke ; 

Scarce  conscious  he  was  heard,  he  spoke; 

"  'Twas  Mortham's  fonn,  from  foot  to  head ! 

His  morion,  with  the  plume  of  red. 

His  shape,  his  mien — 'twas  Mortham,  right 

As  when  I  slew  him  in  the  fight." — 

"Thou  slay  him? — thou?" — With  conscious  start 

He  heard,  then  mann'd  his  haughty  heart — 

"  I  slew  him  ? — I ! — I  had  forgot 

Thou,  stripling,  knew'st  not  of  the  plot. 

But  it  is  spoken — nor  will  I 

Deed  done,  or  spoken  word,  deny. 

I  slew  him  ;  I !  for  thankless  pride  ; 

Twas  by  this  hand  that  Mortham  died." 

XX. 

Wilfrid,  of  gentle  hand  and  heart, 

Averse  to  every  active  part. 

But  most  averse  to  martial  broil, 

From  danger  shrunk,  and  tum'd  from  toil ; 

Yet  the  meek  lover  of  the  lyre 

Nursed  one  brave  spark  of  noble  fire ; 

Against  injustice,  fraud,  or  wrong. 

His  blood  beat  high,  his  hand  wax'd  strong. 

Not  his  the  nerves  that  could  sustain, 

Unshaken,  danger,  toil,  and  pain  ; 

But,  when  that  spark  blazed  forth  to  flame,' 

He  rose  superior  to  his  frame. 

1  [MS.—"  But,  when  blazed  forth  that  noble  flame."] 


100  KOKEBY.  [canto  a 

And  now  il  came,  that  generous  mood  ; 
And,  in  full  current  of  his  blood, 
On  Bertram  he  laid  desperate  hand, 
Placed  fii-m  his  foot,  and  drew  his  brand. 
*'  Should  every  fiend,  to  whom  thou'rt  sold, 
Rise  in  thine  aid,  I  keep  my  hold. — 
Arouse  there,  ho  !  take  spear  and  sword  I 
Attach  the  murderer  of  your  Lord  !  " 

XXI. 

A  moment,  fix'd  as  by  a  spell. 

Stood  Bertram — It  seem'd  miracle, 

That  one  so  feeble,  soft,  and  tame, 

Set  gi*asp  on  warlike  Risingham.^ 

But  when  he  felt  a  feeble  stroke,^ 

The  fiend  within  the  rulfian  woke ! 

To  wrench  the  sword  from  Wilfrid's  hand, 

To  dash  him  headlong  on  the  sand. 

Was  but  one  moment's  work, — one  more 

Had  drench'd  the  blade  in  Wilfrid's  gore  ; 

But,  in  the  instant  it  arose. 

To  end  his  life,  his  love,  his  woes, 

1  ["  The  sudden  impression  mude  on  the  mind  of  Wilfrid 
by  this  avowal,  is  one  of  the  happiest  touches  of  moral  poetry 
The  effect  which  the  unexpected  burst  of  indignation  and 
valour  produces  on  Bertram,  is  as  finally  imagined." — CiHU- 
eal  Heview.] — ["  This  most  animating  scene  is  a  worthy  com- 
panion to  the  rencotinter  of  Fitz-iTames  and  Roderick  Dhq 
in  The  Lady  uf  the  Lake." — MonOdy  Review.'} 

s  [MS  — "  At  length,  at  slight  and  feeble  stroke, 
.  .    (  fiend  J 
rage  } 


CA>TO  n.]  EOKEBT.  101 

A  warlike  form,  that  mark'd  the  scene, 
Presents  his  rapier  sheathed  between, 
Parries  the  fast-descending  blow, 
And  steps  'twixt  Wilfrid  and  his  foe ; 
Nor  tlien  unscabbarded  his  brand. 
But,  sternly  pointing  with  his  hand. 
With  monarch's  voice  forbade  the  fight, 
And  motion'd  Bertram  from  his  sight, 
"  Go,  and  repent," — he  said,  "  while  time 
la  given  thee ;  add  not  crime  to  crime." 

XXII. 

Mute,  and  uncertain,  and  amazed, 

As  on  a  vision  Bertram  gazed ! 

'Twas  Mortham's  bearing,  bold  and  high,* 

His  sinewy  frame,  his  falcon  eye, 

His  look  and  accent  of  command. 

The  martial  gesture  of  his  hand. 

His  stately  form,  spare-built  and  tall, 

His  war-bleach'd  locks — 'twas  Mortham  alL 

Through  Bertram's  dizzy  brain  career  * 

A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear ; 


^  [MS. — "  'Twas  Mortham's  spare  and  sinewy  frame, 
nis  falcon  eye,  his  glance  of  flame."] 

2  [MS. — "  A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear, 
Dizzied  his  brain  in  wild  career; 
Doubting,  and  not  receiving  quite, 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
StiU  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 
His  livmg  lord,  in  flesh  and  blood."  1 


102  ROKEBT.  [canto  U 

His  wavering  faith  received  not  quite 

The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 

But  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 

His  lord,  in  living  flerh  and  blood. — 

What  spectre  can  the  charnel  send, 

So  dreadful  as  an  injured  friend  ? 

Then,  too,  the  habit  of  command. 

Used  by  the  leader  of  the  band, 

When  Risingham,  for  many  a  day, 

Had  march'd  and  fought  beneath  his  sway, 

Tamed  him — and,  with  reverted  face, 

Backwards  he  bore  his  sullen  pace  ;  ^ 

Oft  stopp'd,  and  oft  on  Mortham  stared, 

And  dark  as  rated  mastiff  glared  ; 

But  when  the  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard. 

Plunged  in  the  glen,  and  disappear'd, 

Nor  longer  there  the  Warrior  stood, 

Re  tiling  eastward  through  the  wood ;  ^ 

But  first  to  Wilfrid  warning  gives, 

"  Tell  thou  to  none  that  Mortham  Hves." 

XXIII. 

Still  rung  these  words  in  Wilfrid's  ear, 
Hinting  he  knew  not  what  of  fear  ; 
When  nearer  came  the  coursers'  tread, 
And,  with  his  father  at  their  head. 
Of  horsemen  arm'd  a  gallant  [)ower 
Rein'd  up  their  steeds  before  the  tower.^ 

«  [MS.—"  Slow  he  retreats  with  sullen  pace."] 

1  [MS. — "  Retiring  through  the  thickest  wood."] 

B  [MS.—"  Rein'd  up  their  steeds  by  Mortham  tower."! 


flAirro  n.]  rokkby.  103 

«  Whence  these  pale  looks,  my  son  ?  "  he  said : 

«  Where's  Bertram  ? — Why  that  naked  blade  ?  " — 

Wilfrid  ambiguously  replied, 

(For  Mortham's  charge  his  honour  tied,) 

"  Bertram  is  gone — the  villain's  word 

Avouch'd  him  murderer  of  his  lord  ! 

Even  now  we  fought — but,  when  your  tread 

Announced  you  nigh,  the  felon  fled." 

In  Wycliffe's  conscious  eye  appear 

A  guihy  hope,  a  guilty  fear ; 

On  his  pale  brow  the  dewdrop  broke. 

And  his  lip  quiver'd  as  he  spoke  : — 

XXIV. 

"  A  murderer  ! — Philip  Mortham  died 
Amid  the  battle's  wildest  tide. 
Wilfrid,  or  Bertram  raves,  or  you  ! 
Yet,  grant  such  strange  confession  true. 
Pursuit  were  vain — let  him  fly  far — 
Justice  must  sleep  in  civil  war." 
A  gallant  Youth  rode  near  his  side, 
Brave  Rokeby's  page,  in  battle  tried ; 
That  morn,  an  embassy  of  weight 
He  brought  to  Barnard's  castle  gate, 
And  followed  now  in  Wycliffe's  train, 
An  answer  for  his  lord  to  gain. 
His  steed,  whose  arch'd  and  sable  neck 
An  hundred  wreaths  of  foam  bedeck, 
Chafed  not  against  the  curb  more  high 
Than  he  at  Oswald's  cold  reply  ; 


1 04  ROKEBT.  [rASTO 

He  bit  his  lip,  implored  his  saint, 

(His  the  old  faith) — then  burst  restramt 

XXV. 

"  Yes !  I  beheld  his  bloody  fall,i 
By  that  base  traitor's  dastai'd  ball. 
Just  when  I  thought  to  measure  sword, 
Presumptuous  hope  !  with  Mortham's  lord. 
And  shall  the  murderer  'scape,  who  slew 
His  leader,  generous,  brave,  and  true  ?  ^ 
Escape,  while  on  the  dew  you  trace 
The  marks  of  his  gigantic  pace  ? 
No !  ere  the  sun  that  dew  shall  dry,* 
False  E-isingham  shall  yield  or  die. — 
Ring  out  the  castle  'larum  bell ! 
Arouse  the  peasants  with  the  knell ! 
Meantime  disperse — ride,  gallants,  ride  I 
Beset  the  wood  on  every  side. 
But  if  among  you  one  there  be. 
That  honours  Mortham's  memory, 
Let  him  dismount  and  follow  me  ! 
Else  on  your  crests  sit  fear  and  shame, 
And  foul  suspicion  dog  your  name  1 " 

XXVI. 

Instant  to  earth  young  Redmond  sprung ; 
Instant  on  earth  the  harness  rung 

1  [MS, — "  Yes!  I  beheld  him  foully  slain. 

By  that  base  traitor  of  his  train.'''''\ 

2  [MS. — "  A  knight,  so  generous,  brave,  and  true."] 
•  [MS. "  that  dew  shall  drain, 

False  Risingham  shall  be  kill'd  or  ta'en."] 


OABTO  n.]  EOKEBY.  106 

Of  twenty  men  of  Wycliffe's  band, 
Who  waited  not  their  lord's  command. 
Redmond  his  spurs  from  buskins  drew, 
His  mantle  from  his  shoulders  threw, 
His  pistols  in  his  belt  he  placed, 
The  green-wood  gain'd,  the  footsteps  traced, 
Shouted  hke  huntsmen  to  his  hounds, 
"  To  cover,  hark ! " — and  in  he  bounds. 
Scarce  heard  was  Oswald's  anxious  cry, 
•'*  Suspicion  I  yes — pursue  him — ^fly — 
But  venture  not,  in  useless  strife, 
On  ruffian  desperate  of  his  life, 
Whoever  finds  him,  shoot  him  dead  I 
Five  hundred  nobles  for  his  head  !  ** 

XXVII. 

The  horsemen  gallop'd,  to  make  good 
Each  path  that  issued  from  the  wood. 
Loud  from  the  tliickets  rung  the  shout 
Of  Redmond  and  his  eager  route  ; 
With  them  was  Wilfrid,  stung  with  ire, 
And  envj'ing  Redmond's  mai-tial  fire,* 
And  emulous  of  fame. — But  where 
Is  Oswald,  noble  Mortham's  heir  ? 
He,  bound  by  honour,  law,  and  faith, 
Avenger  of  his  kinsman's  death  ? — 
Leaning  against  the  elmin  tree. 
With  drooping  head  and  slacken'd  knee, 

1  [MS.—"  Jealous  vf  Ke  JaiunJs  uubU  fire,"! 


106  ROKEBY.  [canto  II 

And  clenched  teeth,  and  close-clasp'd  hands, 

In  agony  of  soul  he  stands ! 

His  downcast  eye  on  earth  is  bent, 

His  soul  to  every  sound  is  lent ; 

For  in  each  shout  that  cleaves  the  air, 

May  ring  discovery  and  despair.^ 

XXVIII. 

What  'vail'd  it  him,  that  brightly  pla/d 
The  morning  sun  on  Mortham's  glade  ? 
AU  seems  in  giddy  round  to  ride, 
Like  objects  on  a  stormy  tide, 
Seen  eddying  by  the  moonlight  dim. 
Imperfectly  to  sink  and  swim. 
What  'vail'd  it,  that  the  fair  domain. 
Its  battled  mansion,  hill,  and  plain. 
On  which  the  sun  so  brightly  shone, 
Envied  so  long,  was  now  his  own  ?  ^ 
The  lowest  dungeon,  in  that  hour. 
Of  Brackenbury's  dismal  tower,* 

1  ["  Opposed  to  this  animated  picture  ot  ardent  courage 
and  ingenuous  youth,  that  of  a  guilty  conscience,  which  im- 
mediately follows,  is  indescribably  terrible,  and  calculated  to 
achieve  the  highest  and  noblest  purposes  of  dramatic  fie- 
tion." — Critical  Eeview.] 

2  ["  The  contrast  of  the  beautiful  morning,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  the  rich  domain  of  Mortham,  which  Os^wald  was  come 
to  seize,  with  the  dark  remorse  and  misery  of  his  mind,  is 
powerfully  represented:  {Nun  domus  et  Ju7idus  .'"  &,c.  &c.)— 
ifo7iihly  Review.^ 

3  This  tower,  aheiidy  mentioned  see  page  74),  is  situated 
Tjear  the  northeastern  extremity  of  the  wall  whicu  encloses 


CANTO  11.  ]  ROKEBY.  107 

Had  been  his  choice,  could  such  a  doom 
Have  open'd  Mortham's  bloody  tomb ! 
Forced,  too,  to  turn  unwilling  ear 
To  each  surmise  of  hope  or  fear, 
Murraur'd  among  the  rustics  round. 
Who  gather'd  at  the  'larum  sound ; 
He  dared  not  turn  his  head  away, 
E'en  to  look  up  to  heaven  to  pray. 
Or  call  on  hell,  in  bitter  mood. 
For  one  sharp  death-shot  from  the  wood  I 

XXIX. 

At  length  o'erpast  that  dreadful  space, 
Back  straggling  came  the  scattered  chase  ; 
Jaded  and  weary,  horse  and  man, 
Return'd  the  troopers,  one  by  one. 
Wilfrid,  the  last,  arrived  to  say. 
All  trace  was  lost  of  Bertram's  way, 
Though  Redmond  still,  up  Brignall  wood,* 
The  hopc4es5  quest  in  vain  pursued. — 
O,  fatal  doom  of  human  race ! 
What  tyrant  passions  passions  chase  ! 

Barnard  Castle,  and  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been  the 
prison.  By  an  odd  coincidence,  it  bears  a  name  which  we 
naturally  connect  with  imprisonment,  from  its  being  that  of 
Sir  Eobert  Bnickenbur}',  lieutenant  of  the  Tower  of  London 
Lnder  Edward  IV.  and  Richard  III.  There  is  indeed  some 
reason  to  conclude  that  the  tower  may  actually  have  derived 
the  name  from  that  family,  for  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  him- 
self possessed  considerable  property  not  far  from  Barnard 
Castle. 
1  (MS. — "  Though  Redmond  still,  as  nnsubdaed."] 


LIBRARY 


108  ROKEBT.  [CAMTO  IL 

Remorse  from  Oswald's  brow  is  gone, 
Avaiice  and  pride  resume  their  throne  ;  * 
The  pang  of  instant  terror  by, 
They  dictate  us  their  slave's  reply : — 

XXX. 

«  Ay — let  him  range  like  hasty  hound  ! 
And  if  the  grim  wolfs  lair  be  found. 
Small  is  my  care  how  goes  the  game 
With  Redmond,  or  with  Risingham. — 
Nay,  answer  not,  thou  simple  boy ! 
Thy  fair  Matilda,  all  so  coy 
To  thee,  is  of  another  mood 
To  that  bold  youth  of  Erin's  blood. 
Thy  ditties  will  she  freely  praise, 
And  pay  thy  pains  with  courtly  phrase ; 
In  a  rough  path  will  oft  command — 
Accept  at  least — thy  friendly  hand ; 
His  she  avoids,  or,  urged  and  pray'd. 
Unwilling  takes  his  profFer'd  aid, 
While  conscious  passion  plainly  speaks 
In  downcast  look  and  blushing  cheeks. 
Whene'er  he  sings,  will  she  gUde  nigh, 
And  all  her  soul  is  in  her  eye  ; 
Yet  doubts  she  still  to  tender  free 
The  wonted  words  of  courtesy. 


I  ('*TheMS.  adds:— 

"Of  Mortbam's  treasure  now  he  dreams, 
Now  nurses  more  ambitious  schemes."] 


CAN-TO  n.J  ROKEBY.  109 

These  are  strong  signs  ! — yet  wherefore  sigh, 
And  wipe,  effeminate,  thine  eye? 
Thine  shall  she  be,  if  thou  attend 
The  counsels  of  thy  sire  and  friend. 

•*  Scarce  wert  thou  gone,  when  peep  of  light ' 
Brought  genuine  news  of  Marston's  fight. 
Brave  Cromwell  tum'd  the  doubtful  tide, 
And  conquest  bless'd  the  rightful  side  ; 
Three  thousand  cavaliers  lie  dead, 
"Rupert  and  that  bold  Marquis  fled ; 
Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 
Of  these,  committed  to  my  charge. 
Is  Rokeby,  prisoner  at  large  ; 
Redmond,  his  page,  arrived  to  say 
He  reaches  Bamai'd's  towers  to-day. 
Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be, 
Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee !  * 


1  [MS.—"  This  Redmond  brought  at  peep  of  light 
The  news  of  Marston's  happy  fight."] 

3  After  the  battle  of  ilarston  Moor,  the  Earl  of  Newcastle 
retired  beyond  sea  in  di?gust,  and  many  of  his  followers  laid 
down  their  arms,  and  made  the  best  composition  they  could 
with  the  Committees  of  Parliament.  Fines  were  imposed 
upon  them  in  proportion  to  their  estates  and  degrees  of  delin- 
quency, and  these  fines  were  often  bestowed  upon  such 
oersons  as  ha<l  deserved  well  of  the  Commons.  In  some  cir- 
cnmitances  it  happened,  that  the  oppressed  cavaliers  were 
<*iii   to  form  family  alliances  with  some  powerful  person 


110  ROKEBT.  [canto  U 

Go  to  her  now — be  bold  of  cheer, 

While  her  soul  floats  'twixt  hope  and  fear ; 

It  is  the  very  change  of  tide, 

When  best  the  female  heart  is  tried — 

Pride,  prejudice,  and  modesty, 

Are  in  the  current  swept  to  sea ;  ^ 

And  the  bold  swain,  who  plies  his  oar, 

May  lightly  row  his  bark  to  shore." 

amoug  the  triumphant  party.  The  whole  of  Sir  Robert  How- 
ard's excellent  comedy  of  The  Committee  turns  upon  the  plot 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Day  to  enrich  their  family,  by  compelling 
Arabella,  whose  estate  was  under  sequestration,  to  marry 
their  son  Abel,  as  the  price  by  which  she  was  to  compound 
with  Parliament  for  delinquency ;  that  is,  for  attachment  to 
the  royal  cause. 
1  [MS.—"  In  the  warm  ebb  are  swept  to  sea."] 


ROKEBY 


CANTO    THTBD. 


ROKEBT 


UANTO    THIRD. 


I. 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 
Respect  the  brethren  of  theii-  birth ;  * 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claim  of  kind, 
Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assign'd. 
The  falcon,  poised  on  soaring  wing, 
Watches  the  wild-duck  by  the  spring ; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair ; 
The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare ; 
The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb  ; 
The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam : 
Even  tiger  fell,  and  sullen  bear, 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare, 
Man,  only,  mai's  kind  Nature's  plan, 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  man  ; 

Slower     I 
^^„^«-  ( tribes  of  earth  and  air, 
meaner }  ' 

In  the  wild  chase  the'r  kindred  spare." 

The  second  couplet  interpolated.] 

VOL.   IV.  8 


114  ROKEBY.  [CAIiTOm. 

Plying  war's  desultory  trade, 
Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade,^ 
Since  Isimrod,  Gush's  mighty  son, 
At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 


The  Indian,  prowling  luf  his  prey, 

"WTio  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way, 

And  knows  in  distant  forest  far 

Camp  his  red  brethren  of  the  war  ; 

He,  when  each  double  and  disguise 

To  baffle  the  pursuit  he  tries, 

Low  crouching  now  his  head  to  hide, 

Where  swampy  streams  through  rushes  glide, 

Now  covering  with  the  wither'd  leaves 

The  foot-prints  that  the  dew  receives ; ' 


1  [MS. — "  Invasion,  flight,  and  ambuscade."] 

2  [MS. — "  Where  the  slow  waves  through  rushes  glide."] 

8  The  patience,  abstinence,  and  ingenuity,  exerted  by  tha 
North  American  Indians,  when  iu  pursuit  of  plunder  or  ven- 
geance, is  the  most  distinguished  feature  in  their  character; 
and  the  activity  and  address  which  they  display  in  their 
retreat  is  equally  surprising.  Adair,  whose  absurd  hypothesis 
and  turgid  style  do  not  affect  the  general  authenticity  of  his 
anecdotes,  has  recorded  an  instance  which  seems  incredible. 

"  When  the  Chickasah  nation  was  engaged  in  a  former  war 
with  the  ^luskohge,  one  of  their  young  warriors  set  off  against 

them  to  revenge  the  blood  of  a  near  relation He 

went  through  the  most  unfrequented  and  thick  parts  of  the 
woods,  as  such  a  dangerous  enterprise  required,  till  he  arrived 
*»posite  to  the  great  and  old-beloved  town  of  refuge,  Koosah. 
which  stands  high  on  the  eastern  side  of  a  bold  river,  about 


CAHTOIU.]  IIOKEBT.  115 

He,  skiird  in  every  sylvan  guile, 
Knows  not,  nor  tries,  such  various  wilp^ 


260  yards  broad,  that  runs  by  the  late  danojerous  Albehama- 
Forr,  down  to  the  black  poisoning  Mobille,  and  so  into  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  he  concealed  himself  under  cover 
of  the  top  of  a  fallen  pine-tree,  in  view  of  the  ford  of  the  old 
trading-path,  where  the  enemy  now  and  tlien  pass  the  river 
in  their  light  poplar  canoes.  All  his  war-store  of  provisions 
consisted  in  three  stands  of  barbicued  venison,  till  he  hud  an 
opportunity  to  revenge  blood,  and  return  home.  He  waited 
with  watchfulness  and  patience  almost  three  days,  when  a 
young  man,  a  woman,  and  a  girl,  passed  a  little  wide  of-him 
about  au  hour  before  sunset.  The  former  he  shot  down, 
tomahawked  the  other  two,  and  scalped  each  of  them  in  a 
trice,  in  full  view  of  the  town.  By  way  of  bmvado,  he 
ghaked  the  scalps  before  them,  sounding  the  awful  death- 
whoop,  and  set  off  along  the  trading-path,  trusting  to  his 
heels,  while  a  great  many  of  the  enemy  ran  to  their  arms 
and  gave  chase.  Seven  miles  from  thence  he  entered  the 
gieat  blue  ridge  of  the  Apalache  Mountains.  About  an 
hour  before  day  he  had  run  over  seventy  miles  of  that  moun- 
tainous tract;  then,  after  sleeping  two  hours  in  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, leaning  his  back  against  a  tree,  he  set  off  again  with 
fresh  speed.  As  he  threw  away  the  venison  when  he  found 
himself  pursued  by  the  enemy,  he  was  obliged  to  support 
nature  with  such  herbs,  roots,  and  nuts,  as  his  sharp  eyes, 
with  a  running  glance,  directed  him  to  snatch  up  in  his  course. 
Though  I  often  have  rode  that  war-path  alone,  when  delaj 
might  Ivave  proved  dangerotis,  and  with  as  fine  and  strong 
horscLi  as  any  in  America,  it  took  me  five  days  to  ride  from 
the  aforesaid  Koosah  to  this  sprightly  warrior's  place  in  the 
Chickasah  country,  the  distance  of  300  computed  mile? ,  yet 
he  ran  it,  and  got  home  safe  and  well  at  about  eleven  o'clock 
of  the  third  day,  which  was  only  one  day  and  a  half  and  twc 
night*." — Adair's  History  of  the  American  JtuUaru.  Loud. 
1775.  4to,  p.  395. 


116  ROKEBY.  LcAXTOm 

As  Risingham,  when  on  the  wmd 
Arose  the  loud  pursuit  behind. 
In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 
Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 
When  Kooken-edge,  and  Redswair  high, 
To  bugle  rung  and  bloodhound's  cry,^ 


i""\Yhat  manner  of  cattle-stealers  they  are  that  inhabit 
these  valleys  in  the  marches  of  both  kingdoms,  John  Lesley, 
a  Scotche  man  himself,  and  Bishop  of  Koss,  will  inform  you. 
They  sally  out  of  their  own  borders  in  the  night,  in  troops, 
through  unfrequented  by-ways  and  many  intricate  windings. 
All  the  daytime  they  refresh  themselves  and  their  horses  in 
lurking  holes  they  had  pitched  upon  before,  till  they  aiTive 
in  the  dark  in  those  places  they  have  a  design  upon.  As  soon 
as  they  have  seized  upon  the  booty,  they,  in  like  manner, 
return  home  in  the  night,  through  blind  ways,  and  fetching 
many  a  compass.  The  more  skilful  any  captain  is  to  pass 
through  those  wild  deserts,  crooked  turnings,  and  deep  preci- 
pices, in  the  thickest  mists,  his  reputation  is  the  greater,  and 
he  is  looked  upon  as  a  man  of  an  excellent  head.  And  they 
are  so  very  cunning,  that  they  seldom  have  their  booty  taken 
from  them,  unless  sometimes  when,  by  the  help  of  blood- 
hounds following  them  exactly  upon  the  tract,  they  may 
chance  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  their  adversaries.  When 
being  taken,  they  have  so  much  persuasive  eloquence,  and  so 
many  smooth  insinuating  words  at  command,  that  if  they  do 
not  move  their  judges,  nay,  and  even  their  adversaries  (not- 
withstanding the  severity  of  their  natures)  to  have  mercy, 
yet  they  incite  them  to  admiration  and  compassion." — Cam- 
DE>''s  Britannia. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  of  Tyne  and  Reed  were,  in 
ancient  times,  so  inordinately  addicted  to  these  depredations, 
^at  in  1564,  the  Incorporated  Merchant-adventurers  of  New- 
castle made  a  law  that  none  bon;  in  these  districts  should  be 
admitted  apprentice.     The  inhabitants  are  stated  to  be  so 


3ANTO  m  ]  ROKEBT.  117 

Anhouncing  Jedwood-axp  and  spear, 
And  Lid'sdale  riders  in  the  rear ; 
And  well  his  venturous  lite  had  proved 
The  lessons  that  his  childhood  loved. 

in. 
Oft  had  he  shown,  in  climes  afar 
Each  attribute  of  roving  war  ; 
The  sharpen'd  ear,  the  piercing  eye, 
The  quick  resolve  in  danger  nigh ; 
The  speed,  that  in  the  flight  or  chase, 
Outstripp'd  the  Chaiib's  rapid  race  ; 
The  steady  brain,  the  sinewy  limb. 
To  leap,  to  chmb,  to  dive,  to  s\vim ; 
The  iron  frame,  inured  to  bear 
Each  dire  inclemency  of  air, 

generally  addicted  to  rapine,  that  no  faith  should  be  reposed 
in  those  proceeding  from  "  such  lewde  and  wicked  progeni- 
tors." This  regulation  continued  to  stand  unrepealed  until 
1771.  A  beggar,  in  an  old  play,  describes  himself  as  "  bom 
in  Bedesdale,  in  Northumberland,  and  come  of  a  wight-ridiug 
surname,  called  the  Robsons,  good  honest  men  and  tr::e, 
taring  a  little  shifting  for  their  living,  God  help  them  ! " — a 
description  which  would  have  applied  to  most  Borderers  ou 
both  sides. 

Reidswair,  famed  for  a  skirmish  to  which  it  gives  name 
[see  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  15,]  is  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  Carter-Fell,  which  divides  England  from  Scotland,  The 
Ko<')keii  is  a  place  upon  Reedwater.  Bertram,  being  described 
as  a  native  of  these  dales,  where  the  habits  of  hostile  depre- 
dation long  survived  the  union  of  the  crowus,  may  have 
been,  in  some  degree,  prepared  by  education  for  the  exorcise 
of  a  similar  trade  in  the  wars  of  the  Buccaneers. 


lis  ROKEBY.  [CA^TOHL 

Nor  less  confirm'd  to  undergo 
Fatigue's  faint  chill,  and  famine's  throe. 
These  arts  he  proved,  his  life  to  save, 
In  peril  oft  by  land  and  wave, 
On  Arawaca's  desert  shore, 
Or  where  La  Plata's  billows  roar, 
When  oft  the  sons  of  vengeful  Spain 
Track'd  the  marauder's  steps  in  vain. 
These  arts,  in  Indian  warfare  tried. 
Must  save  him  now  by  Greta's  side 

IV. 

'Twas  then,  in  hour  of  utmost  need. 

He  proved  his  courage,  art,  and  speed. 

Now  slow  he  stalk'd  with  stealthy  pace, 

Now  started  forth  in  rapid  race. 

Oft  doubling  back  in  mazy  train. 

To  blind  the  trace  the  dews  retain  ;* 

Now  clombe  the  rocks  projecting  high, 

To  baffle  the  pursuer's  eye  ; 

Now  sought  the  stream,  whose  brawling  sound 

The  echo  of  his  footsteps  drown'd. 

But  if  the  forest  verge  he  nears, 

There  trample  steeds,  and  glimmer  spears ; 

If  deeper  down  the  copse  he  drew. 

He  heard  the  rangers'  loud  halloo. 

Beating  each  cover  while  they  came, 

As  if  to  start  the  sylvan  game. 

1  [MS. — "  Where  traces  in  the  dew  remain."] 


CA^ITO  ra.J  ROKEBY.  IIS 

*Twas  then — ^like  tiger  close  beset  * 

At  every  pass  with  toil  and  net, 
*Counter'd,  where'er  he  turns  his  glare, 
By  clashing  arms  and  torches'  flare. 
Who  meditates,  with  fiirious  bound. 
To  burst  on  hunter,  horse,  and  hound, — * 
'Twas  then  that  Bertram's  soul  arose, 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes : 
But  as  that  crouching?  tiofer,  cow'd 
By  brandish'd  steel  and  shouting  crowd, 
Retreats  beneath  the  jungle's  shroud, 
Bertram  suspends  his  purpose  stem, 
And  couches  in  the  brake  and  fern, 
Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 
The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye.' 


1  [MS. — "  And  oft  his  soul  within  him  rose, 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes, 
And  oft,  like  tiger  toil-beset, 
That  in  each  pass  finds  foe  and  net,"  &c.J 

•  [In  the  MS.  the  stanza  conclude^  thus: 

"  Suspending  yet  his  purpose  stem, 
He  couch'd  him  in  the  brake  and  fern; 
Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spv 
The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye."] 

•  After  one  of  the  recent  battles,  in  which  the  Irish  tebek 
were  defeated,  one  of  their  most  active  leaders  was  found  in 
a  bog,  in  which  he  was  immersed  up  to  the  shouldei^,  wliile 
bis  head  was  concealed  by  an  impending  ledge  of  turf.  Being 
detected  and  seized,  notwithstanding  his  precaution,  he  became 
§olicitous  to  know  how  his  retreat  had  been  discovered.  "  I 
caught,"  answered  the  Sutherland  Highlander,  by  whom  he 
was  taken,  "  the  sparkle  of  your  eye."     Those  who  are  accua- 


120  BOKEBY.  [CANTO  m. 

V. 

Then  Bertram  might  the  bearing  trace 
Of  the  bold  youth  who  led  the  chase  ; 
Who  paused  to  list  for  every  sound, 
Climb'd  every  height  to  look  around, 
Then  rushing  on  with  naked  sword, 
Each  dingle's  bosky  depths  explored. 
*Twas  Kedmond — by  the  azure  eye  ; 
'Twas  Redmond — by  the  locks  that  fly 
Disorder'd  from  his  glowing  cheek ; 
Mien,  face,  and  form,  young  Redmond  speak. 
A  form  more  active,  light,  and  strong, 
Ne'er  shot  the  ranks  of  w^ar  along ; 
The  modest,  yet  the  manly  mien, 
IVIight  grace  the  court  of  maiden  queen ; 
A  face  more  fair  you  well  might  find,^ 
For  Redmond's  knew  the  sun  and  wind, 
Nor  boasted,  from  their  tinge  when  free. 
The  charm  of  regularity ; 
But  every  feature  had  the  power 
To  aid  the  expression  of  the  hour  : 

tomed  to  mark  hares  upon  their  form  usually  discover  them 
by  the  same  circumstance.2 

1  [These  six  couplets  were  often  quoted  by  the  late  Lord 
Kinnedder  as  giving  in  his  opinion  an  excellent  portrait  of 
the  author  himself. — Ed.] 

2  [Sir  Walter  Scott  continued  to  be  fond  of  coursing  hares 
long  after  he  had  laid  aside  all  other  field-sports,  and  he  used 
to  say  jocularly,  that  he  had  more  pleasure  in  being  con 
Bidercd  an  excellent  Ji7ider,  than  in  all  his  reputation  as  a 
Irowetir.— Ed.] 


tAKTOm.]  BOKEBT.  121 

Whether  gay  vdt,  and  humour  sly, 

Danced  laughing  in  his  light-blue  eye  ; 

Or  bended  brow,  and  glance  of  fire, 

And  kindUng  cheek,  spoke  Erin's  ire ; 

Or  soft  and  sadden'd  glances  show 

Her  ready  sympathy  with  woe ; 

Or  in  that  wayward  mood  of  mind. 

When  various  feelings  are  combined, 

When  joy  and  sorrow  mingle  near. 

And    Jiope's    bright    wings    are    checked    by 

fear. 
And  rising  doubts  keep  transport  down, 
And  anger  lends  a  short-lived  fi"Own  ; 
In  that  strange  mood  which  maids  approve 
Even  when  they  dare  not  call  it  love ; 
With  every  change  his  features  play'd, 
As  aspens  show  the  hght  and  shade.^ 

VI. 

Well  Risingham  young  Redmond  knew : 
And  much  he  marvell'd  that  the  crew. 
Roused  to  revenge  bold  Mortham  dead, 
Were  by  that  Mortham's  foeman  led ; 
For  never  felt  his  soul  the  woe, 
That  wails  a  generous  foeman  low, 


1  [In  the  MS.  this  image  comes  after  the  line  "  to  aid  the 
sxpression  of  the  hour,"  and  the  couplet  stands; 
"  And  like  a  flexile  aspen  play'd 
Alternately  in  light  and  shade."] 


122  EOKEBT.  fCANTOIU 

Far  less  that  sense  of  justice  strong, 
That  wreaks  a  generous  foeman's  wrong. 
But  small  his  leisure  now  to  pause  ; 
Redmond  is  first,  whate'er  the  cause : ' 
And  twice  that  Redmond  came  so  near 
Where  Bertram  couch'd  like  hunted  deer, 
The  very  boughs  his  steps  displace, 
Rustled  against  the  rufiian's  face, 
Who,  desperate,  twice  prepared  to  start, 
And  plunge  his  dagger  in  his  heart ! 
But  Redmond  turn'd  a  diiferent  way, 
And  the  bent  boughs  resumed  their  sway. 
And  Bertram  held  it  wise,  unseen, 
Deeper  to  plunge  in  coppice  green. 
Thus,  circled  in  his  coil,  the  snake. 
When  roving  hunters  beat  the  brake. 
Watches  with  red  and  glistening  eye. 
Prepared,  if  heedless  step  draw  nigh, 
With  forked  tongue  and  venom'd  fang 
Instant  to  dart  the  deadly  pang ; 
But  if  the  intruders  turn  aside, 
Away  his  coils  unfolded  glide. 
And  through  the  deep  savannah  wind, 
Some  undisturb'd  retreat  to  find. 

VII. 

But  Bertram,  as  he  backward  drew, 
And  heard  the  loud  pursuit  renew, 

1  [MS. — "  The  chase  he  heads,  whate'er  the  cause."  J 


CAxrom.]  BOKEBT.  123 

And  Redmond's  hollo  on  ttie  wind, 
Oft  mutter'd  in  his  savage  mind — 
"  Redmond  O'Neale  !  were  thou  and  1 
Alone  this  day's  event  to  try, 
With  not  a  second  here  to  see, 
But  the  gray  chff  and  oaken  tree, — 
That  voice  of  thine,  that  shouts  so  loud, 
Should  ne'er  repeat  its  summons  proud ! 
No  !  nor  e'er  try  its  melting  power 
Again  in  maiden's  summer  bower.'* 
Eluded,  now  behind  him  die, 
Faint  and  more  faint,  each  hostile  cry  ; 
He  stands  in  Scargill  wood  alone, 
Nor  hears  he  now  a  harsher  tone 
Than  the  hoarse  cushat's  plaintive  cry, 
Or  Greta's  sound  that  murmurs  by ; 
And  on  the  dale,  so  lone  and  wild. 
The  summer  sun  in  quiet  smiled. 


VIII. 

He  listened  long  with  anxious  heart, 
Ear  bent  to  hear,  and  foot  to  start,^ 
And,  while  his  stretch'd  attention  glows, 
Refused  his  weary  frame  repose. 
'Twas  silence  all — he  laid  him  do^vn, 
Where  purple  heath  profusely  strown, 


[MS. "  and  limbs  to  start, 

And,  while  his  stretch'd  attention  giowft, 
Scarce  felt  his  weary  frame  repose."] 


l24  rokebt.  [canto  m 

And  throatwort  with  its  azure  bell,^ 

And  moss  and  thyme  his  cushion  swelL 

There,  spent  with  toil,  he  listless  eyed 

The  course  of  Greta's  playful  tide  ; 

Beneath,  her  banks  now  edding  dun, 

Now  brightly  gleaming  to  the  sun, 

As,  dancing  over  rock  and  stone, 

In  yellow  light  her  currents  shone, 

Matching  in  hue  the  favourite  gem 

Of  Albin's  mountain-diadem. 

Then,  tired  to  watch  the  current's  play, 

He  turn'd  his  weary  eyes  away. 

To  where  the  bank  opposing  show'd 

Its  huge,  square  cliffs  through  shaggy  wood." 

One,  prominent  above  the  rest, 

Rear'd  to  the  sun  its  pale  gray  breast ; 

Around  its  broken  summit  grew 

The  hazel  rude,  and  sable  yew  ; 

A  thousand  varied  lichens  dyed 

Its  waste  and  weather-beaten  side, 

And  round  its  rugged  basis  lay, 

By  time  or  thunder  rent  away. 

Fragments,  that,  from  its  frontlet  torn, 

Were  mantled  now  by  verdant  thorn. 

1  The  Cfctm/)aratt/rt  Lafi/b&a,  grand  throatwort,  or  Canterbury 
bellft,  grows  in  profusion  upon  the  beautiful  banks  of  the 
Biver  Greta,  where  it  divides  the  manors  of  Brignall  and  Scar 
gill,  about  three  miles  above  Greta  Bridge. 

2  [MS. "  show'd, 

With  many  a  rocky  fragment  rude, 
Its  old  gray  clififs  and  shaggy  wood."} 


JAKTO  m.]  KOKEBY.  125 

Such  was  the  scene's  wild  majesty. 
That  fill'd  stem  Bertram's  gazing  eye.' 

IX. 

In  sullen  mood  he  laj  reclined, 
Revolving,  in  his  stormy  mind, 
The  felon  deed,  the  fruitless  guilt, 
His  patron's  blood  by  treason  spilt ; 
A  crime,  it  seem'd,  so  dire  and  dread, 
That  it  had  power  to  wake  the  dead. 
Then,  pondering  on  his  Hfe  betray'd  * 
By  Oswald's  art  to  Redmond's  blade, 
In  treacherous  purpose  to  withhold, 
So  seem'd  it,  Mortliam's  prr.mised  gold, 
A  deep  and  full  revenge  Im  vow'd 
On  Redmond,  forward,  fierce,  and  proud ; 
Revenge  on  Wilfrid — on  his  sire 
Redoubled  vengeance,  swift  and  dire  !— 
If,  in  such  mood,  (as  legends  say, 
And  well  believed  that  simple  day,) 
The  enemy  of  Man  has  power 
To  profit  by  the  evil  hour, 
^lere  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge  !  * 


•' [TheMS.  ad'ls: 

♦*  Yet  as  he  gazed,  he  fail'd  to  find 
According  ^ii?ge  *ouch  his  mind."] 
»  IV°.—''  Then  -ho-gbt  he  on  his  life  betrav'd."] 
*  <t  is  agree*^  bv  all  the  writer^  upon  magic  and  witchcraft 
'iat  lev-.ngp  ^"^  the  most  commou  motive  for  the  pretendw) 


126  EOKEBT.  [Ci\JHTO  ni 

But  though  his  vows,  with  such  a  fire 
Of  earnest  and  intense  desire 

compact  between  Satan  and  his  vassals.  The  ingenuity  of 
Reginald  Scot  has  very  happily  stated  how  such  an  opinion 
came  to  root  itself,  not  only  in  the  minds  of  the  public  and 
of  the  judges,  but  even  in  that  of  the  poor  wretches  them- 
selves who  were  accused  of  sorcery,  and  were  often  firm 
believers  in  their  own  power  and  their  own  guilt. 

"  One  sort  of  such  as  are  said  to  be  witches,  are  women 
which  be  commonly  old,  lame,  blear-eyed,  pale,  foul,  and  full 
of  wrinkles;  poor,  sullen,  superstitious,  or  papists,  or  such 
as  know  no  religion ;  in  whose  drowsie  minds  the  devil  hath 
gotten  a  fine  seat;  so  as  what  mischief,  mischance,  calamity, 
or  slaughter  is  brought  to  pass,  they  are  easily  pers waded  the 
same  is  done  by  themselves,  imprinting  in  their  minds  an 

earnest  and  constant  imagination  thereof. These  go 

from  house  to  house,  and  from  door  to  door,  for  a  pot  of  milk, 
yest,  drink,  pottage,  or  some  such  relief,  without  the  which 
they  could  hardly  live ;  neither  obtaining  for  their  service  or 
pains,  nor  yet  by  their  art,  nor  yet  at  the  devil's  hands,  (with 
whom  they  are  said  to  make  a  perfect  and  visible  bargain,) 
either  beauty,  money,  promotion,  wealth,  pleasure,  honour 
knowledge,  learning,  or  any  other  benefit  whatsoever. 

*'  It  falleth  out  many  a  time,  that  neither  their  necessities 
nor  their  expectation  is  answered  or  served  in  those  places 
where  they  beg  or  borrow,  but  rather  their  lewdness  is  by 
their  neighbours  reproved.  And  farther,  in  tract  of  time  the 
witch  waxeth  odious  and  tedious  to  her  neighbours,  and  they 
again  are  despised  and  despited  of  her;  so  as  sometimes  she 
curseth  one,  and  sometimes  another,  and  that  from  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  his  wife,  children,  cattle,  &c.,  to  the  little 
pig  that  lieth  in  the  stie.  Thus,  in  process  of  time,  they  have 
lill  displeased  her,  and  she  hath  wished  evil  luck  unto  thera 
all;  perhaps  with  curses  and  imprecations  made  in  form. 
Doubtless  (at  length)  some  of  her  neighbours  die  or  fall  sick, 
or  some  of  their  children  are  visited  with  diseases  that  vex 
^hem  strangely,  as  apoplexies,  epilepsies,  convulsions,  hot 


CASTO  m.]  ROKEBr.  1 27 

For  vengeance  dark  and  fell,  were  made,' 
As  well  might  reach  hell's  lowest  shade. 
No  deeper  clouds  the  grove  embrown'd. 
No  nether  thunders  shook  the  ground  ; — 
The  demon  knew  his  vassal's  heart, 
And  spared  temptation's  needless  art.^ 


fevers,  worms,  &c.,  which,  bv  ignorant  parents,  are  supposed 
to  be  the  vengeance  of  witches 

"  The  witch  on  the  other  side,  expecting  her  neighboors* 
mischances,  and  seeing  things  sometimes  come  to  pass  accord- 
ing to  her  wishes,  curses,  and  incantations,  (for  Bodin  himself 
confesses,  that  not  above  two  in  a  hundred  of  their  witchings 
or  wishings  take  effect,)  being  called  before  a  justice,  by  due 
examination  of  the  circumstances,  is  driven  to  see  her  im- 
precations and  desires,  and  her  neighbours'  harms  and  losses, 
to  concur,  and,  as  it  were,  to  take  effect;  and  so  confesseth 
that  she  (as  a  goddess)  hath  brought  such  things  to  pass. 
Wherein  not  only  she,  but  the  accuser,  and  also  the  justice, 
are  foully  deceived  and  abused,  as  being,  through  her  con- 
fession, and  other  circumstances,  perswaded  (to  the  injury  of 
God's  glory)  that  she  hath  done,  or  can  do,  that  which  is 
proper  only  to  God  himself." — Scot's  Discorei'y  of  WUchcraJl. 
Lond.  1655,  fol.  p.  4,  5. 

1  [MS. — "  For  deep  and  dark  revenge  were  made. 
As  well  might  wake  hell's  lowest  shade."] 

8  ["  Bertram  is  now  alone;  the  landscape  around  is  truly 
grand,  partially  illuminated  by  the  sun;  and  we  are  reminded 
of  the  scene  in  The  Kobbers,  in  which  something  of  a  similar 
contrast  is  exhibited  between  the  beauties  of  external  nature 
and  the  agitations  of  humaii  passion.  It  is  in  such  pictures 
that  Mr,  Scott  delights  and  excels." — Monthly  Review. — One 
is  surprised  that  the  reviewer  did  not  ouote  Milton  rather 
than  Schiller: 

"The  fiend 

Saw  uudelighted  all  delight."— Ed. J 


1 28  ROKEBY.  [CAMTO  m 

X. 

Oft,  mingled  with  the  direful  theme, 

Came  Mortham's  form — Was  it  a  dream  ? 

Or  had  he  seen,  in  vision  true. 

That  very  Mortham  whom  he  slew  ? 

Or  had  in  living  flesh  appear'd 

The  only  man  on  earth  he  fear'd? 

To  try  the  mystic  cause  intent, 

His  eyes,  that  on  the  cliff  were  bent, 

Counter*d  at  once  a  dazzling  glance. 

Like  sunbeam  flash'd  from  sword  or  lance. 

At  once  he  started  as  for  fight. 

But  not  a  foeman  was  in  sight ;  ^ 

He  heard  the  cushat's  murmur  hoarse, 

He  heard  the  river's  sounding  course ; 

The  soUtary  woodlands  lay, 

As  slumbering  in  tlie  summer  ray. 

He  gazed,  like  lion  I'oused,  around, 

Then  sunk  again  upon  the  ground. 

'Twas  but,  he  thought,  some  fitful  beam, 

Glanced  sudden  from  the  sparkling  stream ; 

Then  plunged  him  in  his  gloomy  train 

Of  ill-connected  thoughts  again, 

Until  a  voice  behind  him  cried, 

"  Bertram  !  well  met  on  Greta  side." 

XI. 

Instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand. 
As  instant  sunk  the  ready  brand ; 
'  [MS. — "  Look'd  round — no  foeman  was  in  sight  "] 


CABTO  m.J  EOKEBT.  129 

Yet,  dubious  still,  opposed  he  stood 

To  him  that  issued  from  the  wood : 

"  Guj  Denzil  I — is  it  thou  ?  "  he  said ; 

*'  Do  we  two  meet  in  Scargill  shade ! — 

Stand  back  a  space  ! — thv  purpose  show, 

"VThether  thou  comest  as  friend  or  foe. 

Report  hath  said,  that  Denzil's  name 

From  Rokeby's  band  was  razed  with  shame."— 

"  A  shame  I  owe  that  hot  O'Neale, 

Who  told  his  knight,  in  peevTsh  zeal, 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs.* 


1  The  troops  of  the  King,  when  they  5rst  took  the  field, 
were  as  well  disciplined  as  ^ould  be  expected  froni  circam- 
Btances.  But  as  the  circumstances  of  Charles  became  less 
favourable,  and  his  funds  for  regularly  paying  his  forces 
decreased,  habits  of  military  license  prevailed  among  them 
in  greater  excess.  Lacy  the  player,  who  served  his  master 
during  the  Civil  War,  brought  out,  after  the  Restoration,  a 
piece  called  The  Old  Troop,  in  which  he  seems  to  have  com- 
memorated some  real  incidents  which  occurred  in  his  military 
career.  The  names  of  the  officers  of  the  Troop  sufficiently 
express  their  habits.  We  have  Fleaflint  Plunder-Master- 
General,  Captain  Ferret-farm,  and  Quarter-Master  Bum-drop. 
1  he  officers  of  the  Troop  are  in  league  with  these  worthies, 
and  connive  at  their  plundering  the  country  for  a  suitable 
Bhare  in  the  booty.  All  this  was  undoubtedly  drawn  from 
the  life,  which  Lacy  had  an  opportunity  to  study.  The  moral 
of  the  whole  is  comprehended  in  a  rebuke  given  to  the  lieu- 
tenant, whose  disorders  in  the  country  are  said  to  prejudice 
the  King's  cause  more  than  his  courage  in  the  field  could 
recompense.  The  piece  is  by  no  means  void  of  farcicAl  hu- 
mour. 

VOL.   IV.  9 


130  ROKEBT.  [canto  III. 

I  reck  not.     In  a  war  to  strive, 

Where,  save  the  leaders,  none  can  thrive, 

Suits  ill  nay  mood  ;  and  better  game 

Awaits  us  both,  if  thou'rt  the  same 

Unscrupulous,  bold  Risingham,^ 

Who  watch'd  with  me  in  midnight  dark. 

To  snatch  a  deer  from  Rokeby-park. 

How  think'st  thou  ?  " — "  Speak  thy  purpose  out 

I  love  not  mystery  or  doubt." — 

XII. 

"  Then,  list. — Not  far  there  lurk  a  crew 

Of  trusty  comrades,  stanch  and  true, 

Glean'd  from  both  factions — Roundheads,  freed 

From  cant  of  sermon  and  of  creed ; 

And  Cavahers,  whose  souls,  like  mine. 

Spurn  at  the  bonds  of  discipline. 

Wiser,  we  judge,  by  dale  and  wold, 

A  warfare  of  our  own  to  hold. 

Than  breathe  our  last  on  battle-down. 

For  cloak  or  surplice,  mace  or  crown. 

Our  schemes  are  laid,  our  purpose  set, 

A  chief  and  leader  lack  we  yet. — 

Thou  art  a  wanderer,  it  is  said  ; 

For  Mortham's  death,  thy  steps  waylaid,^ 

Thy  head  at  price — so  say  our  spies. 

Who  range  the  valley  in  disguise. 

1  [MS.—"  Unscrupulous,  gallant  Risingham."] 
«  [MS. — " Thy  head  at  price,  thy  steps  waylaid."! 


tuirrom,]  ROKEBT.  131 

Join  then  with  us : — though  wild  debate 
And  wrangling  rend  our  infant  state, 
Each  to  an  equal  loath  to  bow, 
Will  yield  to  chief  renown'd  as  thou." — 

XIII. 

"Even  now,"  thought  Bertram,  '•  passion-stirr'd, 

I  call'd  on  hell,  and  hell  has  heard !  ^ 

What  lack  I,  vengeance  to  command, 

But  of  stanch  comrades  such  a  band  ?  ^ 

This  Denzil,  vow'd  to  every  evil, 

]\light  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 

Well,  be  it  so !  each  knave  and  fool 

Shall  serve  as  my  revenge's  tool." — 

Aloud.  "  I  take  thy  proffer,  Guy, 

But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie  ?  ** — 

'•  Not  far  from  hence,"  Guy  Denzil  said ; 

'•  Descend,  and  cross  the  river's  bed, 

Where  rises  yonder  cliff  so  grey." — 

"  Do  thou,"  said  Bertram,  "  lead  the  way." 

Then  mutter  d,  "  It  is  best  make  sui'e  ; 

Guy  Denzil's  faith  was  never  pure." 

He  follow' d  down  the  deep  descent, 

Then  through  the  Greta's  streams  they  went, 

And,  when  they  reach'd  the  farther  shore. 

They  stood  the  lonely  cliff  before. 

1  [...."  I  but  half  wish'd 

To  see  the  devil,  and  he'f;  here  already." 

Otway,   Venice  Preserved,  A.  2.  Sc.  1.] 
'  [MS. — '■  What  lack  I  my  revenge  to  quench. 

But  such  a  band  of  comrades  stanch?  "1 


\62  ROKEBT.  tCAMTOin. 

XIV. 

"With  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 

The  flinty  rock  a  murmur'd  din  ; 

But  when  Guy  pull'd  the  wilding  spray, 

And  brambles,  from  its  base  away,' 

He  saw,  appearing  to  the  air, 

A  httle  entrance,  low  and  square, 

Like  opening  cell  of  hermit  lone, 

Dark,  winding  through  the  Hving  stone. 

Here  enter'd  Denzil,  Bertram  here ; 

And  loud  and  louder  on  their  ear, 

As  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 

Resounded  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth. 

Of  old,  the  cavern  strait  and  rude. 

In  slaty  rock  the  peasant  heVd ; 

And  Brignall's  woods,  and  Scargill's  wave, 

E'en  now,  o'er  many  a  sister  cave,^ 

Where,  far  within  the  darksome  rift, 

The  wedge  and  lever  ply  their  thrift. 

But  war  had  silenced  rural  trade, 

And  the  deserted  mine  was  made 

1  [MS.  -"  But  when  Guy  Denzil  pull'd  the  spray, 

And  brambles,  from  its  roots  away, 
He  saw,  forth  issuing  to  the  air."] 

2  Tlie  banks  of  the  Greta,  below  Rutherford  Bridge,  abound 
in  soams  of  greyish  slate,  which  are  wrought  in  some  places 
to  a  very  great  depth  under  ground,  thus  forming  artificial 
caverns,  which,  when  the  seam  has  been  exhausted,  are  grad- 
ually hidden  by  the  underwood  which  grows  in  profusion 
upon  the  romantic  banks  of  the  river.  In  times  of  public 
confusion,  they  might  be  well  adapted  to  the  purposes  of 
banditti. 


UA^-Tora]  KOKEBT.  1^ 

The  banquet-hall  and  fortress  too, 
Of  Denzil  and  his  desperate  crew. — 
There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kept ; 
There,  on  his  sordid  pallet,  slept 
Guilt-bom  Excess,  the  goblet  drain'd 
Still  in  his  slumbering  grasp  retaind  ; 
Regret  was  there,  his  eye  still  cast 
With  vain  repining  on  the  past; 
Among  the  feasters  waited  near 
Sorrow,  and  unrepentant  Fear, 
And  Blasphemy,  to  frenzy  driven. 
With  his  own  crimes  reproaching  heaven ; 
While  Bertram  showed,  amid  the  crew, 
The  Master-Fiend  that  Milton  drew. 


XV. 

Hark !  the  loud  revel  wakes  again, 

To  greet  the  leader  of  the  train. 

Behold  the  group  by  the  pale  lamp. 

That  struggles  with  the  earthy  damp. 

By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known, 

To  single  out  and  mark  her  own ! 

Yet  some  there  are,  whose  brows  retain 

Less  deeply  stamp'd  her  brand  and  stain. 

See  yon  pale  stripling  !  ^  when  a  boy, 

A  mother's  pride,  a  father's  joy  ! 

1  ["  We  should  here  have  L-oncluded  our  remarks  on  the 
characters  of  the  drama,  had  not  one  of  it=?  subordinate  per 
Bonage?  been  touched  with  a  force  of  imagination,  which  ten- 
ders it  worthy  even  of  prominent  regard  and  attention.     1  hf 


134  ROKEBT.  [canto  til. 

Now,  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined. 
An  early  image  fills  his  mind  : 
The  cottage,  once  his  sire's,  he  sees, 
Embower'd  upon  the  banks  of  Tees  ; 
He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene, 
And  shares  the  dance  on  Gainford-green. 
A  tear  is  springing — but  the  zest 
Of  some  wild  tale,  or  brutal  jest, 
Hath  to  loud  laughter  stirr'd  the  rest- 
On  him  they  call,  the  aptest  mate 
For  jovial  song  and  merry  feat : 
Fast  flies  his  dream — with  dauntless  air, 
As  one  victorious  o'er  Despair, 
He  bids  the  ruddy  cup  go  round. 
Till  sense  and  sorrow  both  are  drown'd  ; 
And  soon,  in  merry  wassail,  he,^ 
The  life  of  all  their  revelry. 
Peals  his  loud  song  ! — The  muse  has  found 
Her  blossoms  on  the  wildest  ground. 
Mid  noxious  weeds  at  random  strew'd. 
Themselves  all  profitless  and  rude. — 
With  desperate  merriment  he  sung. 
The  cavern  to  the  chorus  rung ; 

poet  has  just  presented  us  with  the  picture  of  a  gang  of  ban- 
ditti, on  which  he  has  bestowed  some  of  the  most  gloomy 
colouring  of  his  powerful  pencil.  In  the  midst  of  this  horri- 
ble group,  is  distinguished  the  exquisitely  natural  and  inter- 
isting  portrait  which  follows : — 

'  See  yon  pale  stripling! '  &c." 

Critical  Review.] 
1  [MS  — "  And  soon  the  loudest  wassailer  he. 
And  life  of  all  their  reveliy."] 


CANTO  m.J  ROKEBY.  T8o 

Yet  mingled  with  his  reckless  glee 
Remorse's  bitter  agoay. 

XVI. 
SONG. 

O,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-hall, 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  Maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

"  0,  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green  ; 
rd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there, 

Than  reign  our  English  queen.** — 

"  If,  Maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town. 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we, 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read. 

As  read  full  well  you  may. 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shalt  thou  speed, 

As  blithe  as  Queen  of  May." — 

CHORUS. 

Tet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 
And  Greta  woods  are  green  ; 


Ifl6  ROKEBT.  [CASTOm 

rd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there, 
Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

XVII. 

"  I  read  you,  by  your  bugle-horn, 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  Ranger  sworn, 

To  keep  the  king's  greenwood." — 
"  A  ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light ; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  mom. 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay  ; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there, 

To  reign  his  Queen  of  May ! 

"  With  burnish'd  brand  and  musketoon, 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  Dragoon, 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum." — 
"  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear ; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum, 

]My  comrades  take  the  spear. 

CHORUS. 

"  And,  O  !  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare, 

Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May ! 


f  ANTO  III.]  ROKEBT.  1 3  ( 

XVI  n. 
"  Maiden  !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die ; 
The  fiend,  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead,^ 

"Were  better  mate  than  I ! 
And  when  I'm  with  mj  comrades  met,* 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough, 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now. 

CHORUS. 

•'  Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green; 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen." 

When  Edmund  ceased  his  simple  song, 
Was  silence  on  the  sullen  throng, 
Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their  glee 
With  note  of  coarser  minstrelsy. 
But,  far  apart,  in  dark  divan, 
Denzil  and  Bertram  many  a  plan, 
Of  import  foul  and  fierce,  desigu'd, 
While  still  on  Bertram's  gra^sping  mind 
The  wealth  of  murder'd  Mortham  hung ; 
Though  half  he  fear'd  his  daring  tongue, 

1  [MS. — "  The  goblin-lijjht  on  fen  or  mead."] 

2  [ilS. — "  And  were  I  with  my  true  love  set 

Under  the  greenwood  bough, 

What  once  I  was  she  must  forget, 

Nor  think  what  I  am  now."l 


138  ROKEBY.  ICANTO  m 

When  it  should  give  his  wishes  birth,* 
Might  raise  a  spectre  from  the  earth  I 

XIX. 

At  length  his  wondrous  tale  he  told : 

When,  scornful,  smiled  his  comrade  bold  ; 

For,  train'd  in  license  of  a  court, 

Keligion's  self  was  Denzil's  sport ; 

Then  judge  in  what  contempt  he  held 

The  visionary  tales  of  eld  ! 

His  awe  for  Bertram  scarce  repress'd 

The  unbeliever's  sneering  jest. 

"  'Twere  hard,"  he  said,  "  for  sage  or  seer,* 

To  spell  the  subject  of  your  fear ; 

Nor  do  I  boast  the  art  renown'd, 

Vision  and  omen  to  expound. 

Yet,  faith  if  I  must  needs  afford 

To  spectre  watching  treasured  hoard, 

As  bandog  keeps  his  master's  roof, 

Bidding  the  plunderer  stand  aloof. 

This  doubt  remains — thy  goblin  gaunt 

Hath  chosen  ill  his  ghostly  haunt ; 

For  why  his  guard  on  Mortham  hold, 

Wlien  Rokeby  castle  hatli  the  gold 


1  [MS. '*  give  the  project  birth. "J 

a  [MS—"  '  'Twere  hard,  my  friend,'  he  said,  'to  spell 

The  morning  vision  that  you  tell; 

Nor  am  I  seer,  for  art  renown'd, 

Dark  dreams  and  omens  to  expound. 

Yet,  if  tny  faith  I  must  atibrd,'  "  &c.] 


OANTum.]  SOKEBT.  139 

Thy  patron  won  on  Indian  soil,* 
By  stealth,  by  piracy,  and  spoil  ?  " 

XX. 

At  this  he  paused — for  angry  shame 

Lower'd  on  the  brow  of  Risinghara. 

He  blush'd  to  think,  that  he  should  seem 

Assertor  of  an  airy  dream, 

And  gave  his  wrath  another  theme. 

*'  Denzil,"  he  says,  "  though  lowly  laid, 

"Wrong  not  the  memory  of  the  dead ; 

For,  while  he  lived,  at  Mortham's  look 

Thy  very  soul,  Guy  Denzil,  shook ! 

And  when  he  tax'd  chy  breach  of  word 

To  yon  fair  Rose  of  Allenford, 

I  saw  thee  crouch  like  chasten'd  hound,^ 

Whose  back  the  huntsman's  lash  hath  found. 

Nor  dare  to  call  his  foreign  wealth 

The  spoil  of  piracy  or  stealth ; 

He  won  it  bravely  with  his  brand, 

When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.' 

1  [MS. ''  hath  his  gold, 

The  gold  he  won  on  Indian  soil."] 

2  [MS. "  Uke  rated  hound."] 

8  There  was  a  short  war  with  Spain  in  1625-6,  which  will 
bo  found  to  agree  pretty  well  with  the  chronology  of  the 
poem.  But  probably  Bertram  held  an  opinion  very  common 
among  the  maritime  heroes  of  the  age,  that  "  there  was  no 
peace  beyond  the  Line."  The  Spanish  guarda-cosias  were 
constantly  employed  in  aggressions  upon  the  trade  and  set- 
tlements of  the  English  and  French;  and  by  their  ovrn  sever- 


L40  ROKEBY.  [CAKTOm 

Mark,  too — I  brook  no  idle  jeer, 
Nor  couple  Bertram's  name  with  fear ; 
Mine  is  but  half  the  demon's  lot, 
For  I  believe,  but  tremble  not. — 
Enough  of  this. — Say,  why  this  hoard 
Thou  deem'st  at  Rokeby  castle  stored ; 
Or  think'st  that  Mortham  would  bestow 
His  treasure  with  his  faction's  foe  ?  " 

XXI. 

Soon  quench'd  was  Denzil's  ill-timed  mirth ; ' 

Rather  he  would  have  seen  the  earth 

Give  to  ten  thousand  spectres  birth, 

Than  venture  to  awake  to  flame 

The  deadly  wrath  of  Risingham. 

Submiss  he  answer'd, — "  Mortham's  mind, 

Thou  know'st,  to  joy  was  ill  inclined. 

In  youth,  'tis  said,  a  gallant  free, 

A  lusty  reveller  was  he  ; 

But  since  return'd  from  over  sea, 

A  sullen  and  a  silent  mood 

Hath  numb'd  the  current  of  his  blood. 

Hence  he  refused  each  kindly  call 

To  Rokeby's  hospitable  hall, 


Ales  gave  room  for  the  system  of  buccaneering,  at  first  adopted 
in  seif-defonce  and  retaliation,  and  afterwards  persevered  io 
from  habit  and  thirst  of  pkinder. 

1  [MS. "  Denzil's  mood  of  mirth; 

He  would  have  rather  seen  the  earth,  &c.'  j 


CA>TO  m.]  KOKEBT.  141 

And  our  stout  kuight,  at  dawn  of  morn 

^Yho  loved  to  hear  the  bugle-horn, 

Nor  less,  when  eve  his  oaks  embrown'd. 

To  see  the  ruddy  cup  go  round, 

Took  umbrage  that  a  friend  so  near 

Refused  to  share  his  chase  and  cheer ; 

Thus  did  the  kindred  barons  jar, 

Ere  they  divided  in  the  war. 

Yet,  trust  me,  friend,  Matilda  fair 

Of  Mortham's  wealth  is  destined  heir.*' — 

XXII. 

"  Destined  to  her  !  to  yon  slight  maid  ! 
The  prize  my  life  had  wellnigh  paid, 
When  'gainst  Laroche,  by  Cayo's  wave, 
I  fought  my  patron's  wealth  to  save ! — * 
Denzil,  I  knew  him  long,  yet  ne'er 
Knew  him  that  joyous  cavaUer, 
Whom  youthful  friends  and  early  fame 
Call'd  soul  of  gallantry  and  game. 
A  moody  man,  he  sought  our  crew. 
Desperate  and  dark,  whom  no  one  knew  ; 
And  rose,  as  men  with  us  must  rise. 
By  scorning  life  and  all  its  ties. 
On  each  adventure  rash  he  roved. 
As  danger  for  itself  he  loved ; 
On  his  sad  brow  nor  mirth  nor  wine 
Could  e'er  one  wrinkled  knot  untwine ; 

1  [The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet,] 


142  KOKEBY.  fCANTOin 

HI  was  the  omen  if  he  smiled, 
For  *twas  in  peril  stern  and  wild ; 
But  when  he  laugh'd,  each  luckless  mate 
Might  hold  our  fortune  desperate.'^ 
Foremost  he  fought  in  every  broil, 
Then  scornful  turn'd  him  from  the  spoil ; 
Nay,  often  strove  to  bar  the  way 
Between  his  comrades  and  their  prey  ; 
Preaching,  even  then,  to  such  as  we. 
Hot  with  our  dear-bought  victory, 
Of  mercy  and  humanity. 

XXIII. 

"  I  loved  him  well — His  fearless  part. 
His  gallant  leading,  M'on  my  heart. 
And  after  each  victorious  fight, 
*Twas  I  that  wranojled  for  his  riojht,'' 
Redeem'd  his  portion  of  the  prey 
That  greedier  mates  had  torn  away  : 
In  field  and  storm  thrice  saved  his  life, 
And  once  amid  our  comrades'  strife. — ' 


1  ["  There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  his  sneer, 
That  raised  emotions  both  of  rage  and  fear; 
And  where  his  frown  of  hatred  darkly  fell, 
Hope  withering  fled — and  Mercy  sigh'd  farewell." 

Corsair,  Byron's  Works,  vol.  v.  p.  146.] 

[MS.—"  And  when  I  j^j^  j  bloody  fight  was  done, 

I  wrangled  for  the  share  he  won."] 
8  The  laws  of  the  Buccaneers,  and  their  successors  thi 
Piiates,  however  severe  and  equitable,  were,  like  other  lawa 


tA>-TO  lU.J  ROKEBY.  J  43 

Yes,  I  have  loved  thee !  Well  hath  proved 

My  toil,  my  danger,  how  I  loved ! 

Yet  will  I  mourn  no  more  thy  fate, 

Ingrate  in  life,  in  death  ingrate. 

Rise  if  thou  canst ! "  he  look'd  ai'ound, 

And  sternly  stamp'd  upon  the  ground — 

often  set  aside  by  the  stronger  party.  Their  quarrels  about 
the  division  of  the  spoil  fill  their  history,  and  they  as  fre- 
quently arose  out  of  mere  fi-olic,  or  the  tyrannical  humour  of 
their  chiefs.  An  anecdote  of  Teach  (called  Blackbeard) 
shows  that  their  habitual  indifference  for  human  life  extended 
to  their  companions,  as  well  as  their  enemies  and  captives. 

"  One  night,  drinking  in  his  cabin  with  Hands,  the  pilot, 
and  another  man,  Blackbeard,  without  any  provocation,  pri- 
vately draws  out  a  small  pair  of  pisrols,  and  cocks  them 
under  the  table,  which,  being  perceived  by  the  man,  he  with- 
drew upon  deck  leaving  Hands,  the  pilot,  and  the  captain 
together.  When  the  pistols  were  ready,  he  blew  out  the  can- 
dles, and,  crossing  his  hands,  discharged  them  at  his  company. 
Hands,  the  master,  was  shot  through  the  knee,  and  lamed  for 
life;  the  other  pistol  did  no  execution." — Johnson's  EisUrry 
of  Pirates.     Lond.  1724,  8vo.  vol.  i.  p.  38. 

Another  anecdote  of  this  wortliy  may  be  also  mentioned. 
"  The  hero  of  whom  we  are  wTiting  was  thoroughly  accom 
plished  this  way,  and  some  of  bis  frolics  of  wickedness  were 
so  extravagant,  as  if  he  aimed  at  making  his  men  believe  he 
was  a  devil  incarnate;  for,  being  one  day  at  sea,  and  a  little 
flushed  with  drink,  *  Come,'  says  he, '  let  us  make  a  hell  of 
our  own,  and  try  how  long  we  can  bear  it.'  Accordingly, 
he,  with  two  or  three  others,  went  down  into  the  hoi  I,  and, 
closing  up  all  the  hatches,  filled  several  pots  full  of  brimstone 
and  other  combustible  matter,  and  set  it  on  fire,  and  so  con 
tinned  till  they  were  almost  suffocated,  when  some  of  the 
men  cried  out  for  air.  At  length  he  opened  the  hatches,  not 
a  little  pleased  that  he  held  out  the  longest." — Jbid.  p.  90. 


144  ROKEBY.  [canto  UL 

"  Rise,  with  thy  bearing  proud  and  high, 
Even  as  this  morn  it  met  mme  eye, 
And  give  me,  if  thou  darest,  the  he  !  '* 
He  paused — then,  calm  and  passion-freed, 
Bade  Denzil  with  his  tale  proceed. 

XXIV. 

"  Bertram,  to  thee  I  need  not  tell. 

What  thou  hast  cause  to  wot  so  well,^ 

How  Superstition's  nets  were  twined 

Around  the  Lord  of  Mortham's  mind ;  ^ 

But  since  he  drove  thee  from  his  tower, 

A  maid  he  found  in  Greta's  bower. 

Whose  speech,  like  David's  hai-p,  had  sway, 

To  charm  his  evil  fiend  away. 

I  know  not  if  her  features  moved 

Remembrance  of  the  wife  he  loved  ; 

But  he  would  gaze  upon  her  eye, 

Till  his  mood  soften'd  to  a  sigh. 

He,  whom  no  Uving  mortal  sought 

To  question  of  his  secret  thought. 

Now  every  thought  and  care  confess'd 

To  his  fair  niece's  faithful  breast ; 

Nor  was  there  aught  of  rich  and  rare, 

In  earth,  in  ocean,  or  in  air, 

But  it  must  deck  Matilda's  hair. 


1  [MS.—"  To  thee,  my  friend,  I  need  not  tell. 

What  thou  hast  cause  to  hnow  so  Avell."] 
•  [MS. — ^"  Around  thy  captaui's  moody  mind."] 


CASTO  in.]  KOKEBY.  145 

Her  love  still  bound  hira  unto  life  ;  * 
But  then  awoke  the  civil  strife, 
And  menials  bore,  by  his  commands, 
Three  coffers,  with  their  iron  bands, 
From  Mortham's  vault,  at  midnight  deep, 
To  her  lone  bower  in  Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous  with  gold  and  plate  of  pride,* 
His  gift,  if  he  in  battle  died." — 

XXV. 

"Then  Denzil,  as  I  guess,  lays  tiain, 
These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain  ; 
Else,  wherefore  should  he  hover  here,' 
Where  many  a  peril  waits  him  near, 
For  all  his  feats  of  war  and  peace, 
For  plunder'd  boors,  and  harts  of  greese  ?  * 
Since  through  the  hamlets  as  he  fared. 
What  hearth  has  Guy's  marauding  spared, 
Or  where  the  chase  that  hath  not  rung  ^ 
With  Denzil's  bow,  at  midnight  strung  ?  " 

1  [MS.—"  But  it  must  be  Matilda's  share. 

This,  too,  still  bound  him  unto  life."] 

•  [MS. — "  From  a  strong  vault  iu  Mortham  tower, 

In  secret  to  Matilda's  bower, 

Ponderous  with  ore  and  gems  of  pride."] 

•  [MS. — "  Then  may  I  guess  thou  hast  some  train, 

These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain ; 
Else,  why  should  Denzil  hover  here."] 

•  Deer  in  season. 

[MS. "  that  doth  not  know 

The  midnight  clang  of  Denzil's  bow. 
— I  hold  my  sport,"  &c.] 
VOL.  IV.  10 


146  ROKEBY.  [canto  in 

"  T  hold  my  wont — my  rangers  go, 
Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe.* 
By  Rokeby-hall  she  takes  her  lair, 
In  Greta  wood  she  harbours  fair, 
And  when  my  huntsman  marks  her  way, 
"What  think'st  thou,  Bertram,  of  the  prey  ? 


1 "  Immediately  after  supper,  the  huntsman  should  go  to 
his  master's  chamber,  and  if  he  serve  a  king,  then  let  him  go 
to  the  master  of  the  game's  chamber,  to  know  in  what  quar- 
ter he  determineth  to  hunt  the  da)-  following,  that  he  may 
know  his  own  quarter;  that  done,  he  may  go  to  bed,  to  the 
end  that  he  may  rise  the  earlier  in  the  morning,  according  to 
the  time  and  season,  and  according  to  the  place  where  he 
must  hunt:  then  when  he  is  up  and  ready,  let  him  drinke  a 
good  draught,  and  fetch  his  hound  to  make  him  breake  his 
fast  a  little:  and  let  him  not  forget  to  fill  his  bottel  with  good 
■wine:  that  done,  let  him  take  a  little  vinegar  into  the  palme 
of  his  hand,  and  put  it  in  the  nostrils  of  his  hound,  for  to 
make  him  snuffe,  to  the  end  his  scent  may  be  the  perfecter, 

then  let  him  go  to  the  wood When  the  huntsman  per- 

ceiveth  that  it  is  time  to  begin  to  beat,  let  him  put  his  hound 
before  him,  and  beat  the  outsides  of  springs  or  thickets; 
and  if  he  find  an  hart  or  deer  that  likes  him,  let  him  mark 
well  whether  it  be  fresh  or  not,  which  he  may  know  as  well 

by  the  maner  of  his  hounds  drawing,  as  also  by  the  eye 

When  he  hath  well  considered  what  maner  of  hart  it  may  be, 
and  hath  marked  every  thing  to  judge  by,  then  let  him  draw 
till  he  come  to  the  couert  where  he  is  gone  to;  and  let  him 
harbour  him  if  he  can,  still  marking  all  his  tokens,  as  well 
by  the  slot  as  by  the  entries,  foyles,  or  such  like.  That  done, 
let  him  plash  or  bruse  down  small  twigges,  some  aloft  and 
some  below,  as  the  art  requireth,  and  therewithall,  whitest 
his  hound  is  bote,  let  him  beat  the  outsides,  and  make  his 
ting  walkes  twice  or  thrice  about  the  wood." — The  Noble  An 
^  Venerie  or  Hunting.    Lond.  1611,  4to.  p.  76,  77. 


BAjrro  ni.l  KOKEBT.  ^^7 

Were  Rokeby's  daughter  in  our  power, 
We  rate  ber  ransom  at  her  dower." — 

XXYI. 

•*  Tie  well ' — there's  vengeance  in  the  thought, 

Matilda  is  by  Wilfrid  sought ; 

And  hot-brain'd  Redmond,  too,  'tis  said, 

Pays  lover's  homage  to  the  maid. 

Bertram  she  scorn'd— If  met  by  chance, 

She  tum'd  from  me  her  shuddermg  glance, 

Like  a  nice  dame,  that  will  not  brook 

On  what  she  hates  and  loathes  to  look ; 

She  told  to  Mortham  she  could  ne'er 

Behold  me  without  secret  fear. 

Foreboding  evil :— She  may  rue 

To  find  her  prophecy  fiill  ti-ue ! — 

The  war  has  weeded  Rokeby's  train. 

Few  followers  in  his  halls  remain  ; 

If  thy  scheme  miss,  then,  brief  and  bold, 

We  are  enow  to  storm  the  hold ; 

Bear  off  the  plunder,  and  the  dame, 

And  leave  the  castle  all  m  flame." — 

xxvn. 

«  Still  art  thou  Valour's  venturous  son! 

Yet  ponder  first  the  risk  to  run  : 

The  menials  of  the  castle,  true,^ 

And  stubborn  to  their  charge,  though  few  ; 

1  [MS.—"  The  menials  of  the  castle  few, 

But  stubborn  to  their  charge,  and  true."] 


148  EOKEBl.  [CANTO  in. 

The  wall  to  scale — the  moat  to  cross — 

The  wicket-grate — the  inner  fosse." 

— "  Fool !  if  we  blench  for  toys  Hke  thx  ^e, 

On  what  fair  guerdon  can  we  seize  ?  ^ 

Our  hardiest  venture,  to  explore 

Some  wretched  peasant's  fenceless  door, 

And  the  best  prize  we  bear  away, 

The  earnings  of  his  sordid  day." — 

"  A  while  thy  hasty  taunt  forbear : 

In  sight  of  road  more  sure  and  fair, 

Thou  wouldst  not  choose,  in  blindfold  wrath. 

Or  wantonness,  a  desperate  path  ? 

List,  then  ; — for  vantage  or  assault, 

From  gilded  vane  to  dungeon-vault, 

Each  pass  of  Rokeby-house  I  know: 

There  is  one  postern,  dark  and  low, 

That  issues  at  a  secret  spot,^ 

By  most  neglected  or  forgot. 

Now,  could  a  spial  of  our  train 

On  fair  pretext  admittance  gain. 

That  sally-port  might  be  unbarr'd  : 

Then,  vain  were  battlement  and  ward  I " — 

XXVIII. 

"  Now  speak*st  thou  well : — to  me  the  same, 
If  force  or  art  shall  urge  the  game  ; 
Indifferent,  if  like  fox  I  wind,^ 
Or  spring  like  tiger  on  the  hind. — 

1  [MS.—"  What  prize  of  vantage  shall  we  seize?"] 

2  [MS.—"  That  issues  level  with  the  moat."l 
8  [MS.—"  I  care  not  if  a  fox  I  wind."] 


CANTO  m.]  ROKtBT.  149 

But,  hark !  our  merry-men  so  gay 
Troll  forth  another  roundelay." — * 

SOXG. 

"  A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine  ! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine ! 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien,* 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green, — 

No  more  of  me  you  knew, 

My  love ! 
No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

"  This  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow. 

The  rose  is  budding  fain  ; 
But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow, 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
He  tum'd  his  charger  as  he  spake. 

Upon  the  river  shore ,^ 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

Said,  "  Adieu  for  evermore. 
My  love ! 
And  adieu  for  evermore." — * 

*  [MS. "  our  mern--nien  again 

Are  frolicking  in  blithesome  strain."] 
'  [MS. — "  A  laughing  eye,  a  dauntless  mien."] 

(    Greta    ) 
»  [MS.-- Upon  the  J  geottish  J  ^^^^^'''^ 

•  The  last  ver>c  of  this  song  is  taken  from  the  fragment  of 


150  KOKEBY.  [CAXTO  in. 

XXIX. 

'•  AVTiat  youth  is  this,  your  band  among, 
The  best  for  minstrelsy  and  song  ? 


an  old  Scottish  ballad,  of  which  I  only  recollected  two  verses 
when  the  first  edition  of  Rokeby  was  published.  Mr.  Thomas 
Sheridan  kindly  pointed  out  to  me  an  entire  copy  of  this 
beautiful  song,  which  seems  to  express  the  fortunes  of  8om« 
ibllower  of  the  Stuart  family: — 

"  It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  left  fair  Scotland's  strand. 
It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 
My  dear, 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

"  Now  all  is  done  that  man  can  do. 
And  all  is  done  in  vain ! 
My  lovte!  my  native  land,  adien! 
For  I  must  cross  the  main, 

My  dear, 
For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

"  He  tum'd  him  round  and  right  about. 
All  on  the  Irish  shore, 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake. 
With,  Adieu  for  evermore,    . 
My  dear! 
Adieu  for  evermore ! 

"  The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns, 
And  the  merchant  frae  the  maia, 
But  I  hae  parted  wi'  my  love. 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

My  dear, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 


CASIO  in.]  ROKEBY.  151 

In  his  wild  notes  seem  aptly  met 
A  strain  of  pleasure  and  regret." — 
"  Edmund  of  Winston  is  his  name  ; 
The  hamlet  sounded  with  the  fame 
Of  early  hopes  his  childhood  gave, — 
Now  center'd  all  in  Brignall  cave  ! 
I  watch  him  well — his  wayward  course 
Shows  oft  a  tincture  of  remorse. 
Some  early  love-shaft  grazed  his  heart,* 
And  oft  the  scar  will  ache  and  smart. 
Yet  is  he  useful ; — of  the  rest, 
By  fits,  the  darhng  and  the  jest, 
His  harp,  his  story,  and  his  lay. 
Oft  aid  the  idle  hours  away :  ^ 
When  unemployed,  each  fiery  mate 
Is  ripe  for  mutinous  debate. 
He  tuned  his  strings  e'en  now — again 
He  wakes  them,  with  a  bhther  strain." 

XXX. 

SONG. 
AIXEX-A-DALE. 

AIlen-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning, 

•Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 

"  When  day  is  gone  and  night  is  come. 

And  a'  are  boun'  to  sleep, 

I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa 

The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 

My  dear, 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep.'" 


.[MS. j"i:,t,f|>.iBhea«."J 

*  [MS. — "  Oft  helps  the  weary  night  away."] 


152  ROKEBY.  [CAKTO  11' 

Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle !  come,  hearken  my 

tale  I 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale 

The  Baron  of  Ravens  worth  ^  prances  in  pride, 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side. 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame ; 
Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  vale, 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  Allen-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight, 
Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  aa 

bright ; 
Allen-a  Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord. 
Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen  ^  will  draw  at  his  word  ; 
And  the  best  of  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  vail. 
Who  at  Rere-cross  ^  on  Stanmore  meets  Allen-a^ 

Dale. 


1  The  ruins  of  Ravensworth  Castle  stand  in  the  North 
Riding  of  Yorkshire,  about  three  miles  from  the  town  of 
Richmond,  and  adjoining  to  the  waste  called  the  Forest  of 
Arkingarth.  It  belonged  originally  to  the  powerful  family 
Df  Fitz-Hugh,  from  whom  it  passed  to  the  Lords  Dacre  of  the 
South. 

2  [MS.—"  But  a  score  of  good  fellows,"  &c.] 

3  This  is  a  fragment  of  an  old  cross,  with  its  pediment,  sur 
rounded  by  an  intrenchment,  upon  the  very  summit  of  the 
waste  ridge  of  Stanmore,  near  a  small  house  of  entertainment 


CANTO  m.]  B0KE6T.  153 

Allen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come  ; 

The  mother,  she  ask'd  of  his  houseliold  and 
home : 

"  Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stands  fair  on 
the  hill, 

ISIy  hall,"  quoth  bold  Allen,  "shows  gaUanter 
still ; 

'Tis  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so 
pale. 

And  with  all  its  bright  spangles  ! "  said  Allen-a- 
Dale. 

The  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was  stone ; 
Thej  Med   the   latch,  and  they  bade   him   be 
gone; 

called  the  Spittal.    It  is  called  Rere-Cross,  or  Ree-Cross,  of 
■which  Holinshed  gives  us  the  following  explanation; — 

"  At  length  a  peace  was  concluded  betwixt  the  two  kings 
vnder  these  conditions,  that  Malcolme  should  enjoy  that  part 
of  Northumberland  which  lieth  betwixt  Tweed,  Cumberland, 
and  Stainmore,  and  doc  homage  to  the  Kinge  of  England  for 
the  same.  In  the  midst  of  Stainmore  there  shall  be  a  crosse 
Bet  up,  with  the  Kinge  of  England's  image  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  Kinge  of  Scotland's  on  the  other,  to  signifie  that  one 
is  march  to  England,  and  the  other  to  Scotland.  This  crosse 
was  called  the  Roi-crosse,  that  is,  the  cross  of  the  Kinge." — 
HoLixsHED.     Lond.  1808,  4to.  v.  280. 

Holinshed's  sole  authority  seems  to  have  been  Boethius, 
But  it  is  not  hnprobable  that  his  account  may  be  the  true 
Dne,  although  the  circumstance  does  not  occur  in  Wintoun's 
Chronicle.  The  situation  of  the  cross,  and  the  pains  taken 
to  defend  it,  seem  to  indicate  that  it  was  intended  for  a  land 
•Dark  of  importance. 


l54  ROKEBT.  [CANTO  111. 

But  loud,  on  the  morrow,  their  wail  and  their 

cry: 
He  had  laugh'd  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black 

eye, 
A.nd  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale. 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale  I 

XXXI. 

"  Thou  see'st  that,  whether  sad  or  gay, 

Love  mingles  ever  in  his  lay. 

But  when  his  boyish  wayward  fit 

Is  o'er,  he  hath  address  and  wit ; 

O !  *tis  a  brain  of  fire,  can  ape 

Each  dialect,  each  various  shape." — 

*'  Nay,  then,  to  aid  thy  project,  Guy — 

Soft !  who  comes  here  ?  " — "  My  trusty  spy. 

Speak,  Hamlin  !  hast  thou  lodged  our  deer  ?  *' — ' 

**  I  have — but  two  fair  stags  are  near. 

1  The  duty  of  the  ranger,  or  pricker,  was  first  to  lodge,  or 
harbcur  the  deer;  ».  e.  to  discover  his  retreat,  as  described  at 
iSDgth  in  note,  p.  146,  and  then  to  make  his  report  to  hia 
prince,  or  master: 

"  Before  the  King  I  come  report  to  make, 

Then  husht  and  peace  for  noble  Tristrame's  sake  .  . . 

My  liege,  I  went  this  morning  on  my  quest. 

My  hound  did  stick,  and  seem'd  to  vent  some  beast. 

I  held  him  short,  and  drawing  after  him, 

1  might  behold  the  hart  was  feeding  trym; 

His  head  was  high,  and  large  in  each  degree, 

Well  paulmed  eke,  and  seem'd  full  sound  to  be. 

Of  colour  browne,  he  beareth  eight  and  tenne. 

Of  stately  height,  and  long  he  seemed  then. 


JANTOm.]  ROKEBY.  155 

I  watch'd  her,  as  she  slowly  stra/d 
From  Eglistone  up  Thorsgill  glade  ; 
But  Wilfrid  Wycliffe  sought  her  side, 
And  then  young  Redmond,  in  his  pride, 
Shot  down  to  meet  them  on  their  way : 
Much,  as  it  seem'd,  was  theirs  to  say : 
There's  time  to  pitch  both  toil  and  net, 
Before  their  path  be  homeward  set," 
A  hurried  and  a  whisper'd  speech 
Did  Bertram's  will  to  Denzil  teach ; 
Who,  turning  to  the  robber  band. 
Bade  four,  the  bravest,  take  the  brand. 

His  beam  seem'd  great,  in  good  proportion  led, 
Well  barred  and  round,  well  pearled  neare  his  head. 
He  seemed  fayre  tweene  blacke  and  berrie  brounde, 
He  seemes  well  fed  by  all  the  signes  I  found. 
For  when  I  had  well  marked  him  with  eye, 
I  stept  aside,  to  watch  where  he  would  lye. 
And  when  I  had  so  wayted  full  an  hours, 
That  he  might  be  at  layre  and  in  his  boure, 
I  cast  about  to  harbour  him  full  sure ; 
My  hound  by  sent  did  me  thereof  assure  . . . 
"  Then  if  he  ask  what  slot  or  view  I  foimd, 
I  say  the  slot  or  view  was  long  on  ground ; 
The  toes  were  great,  the  joyut  bones  round  and  short, 
The  shinne  bones  large,  the  dew-claws  close  in  port: 
Short  ioynted  was  he,  hollow-footed  eke, 
An  hart  to  hunt  as  any  man  can  seeke." 

The  Art  of  Venerie,  ut  supra,  p,  97. 


ROKEBT 


OAKTO   FOURTH. 


ROKEBY 


CANTO   FOUBTH. 


I. 

When  Denmark's  raven  soar*d  on  high, 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sky, 
Till,  hovering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke,* 

1  About  the  year  of  God  866,  the  Danes,  under  their  cele- 
brated leaders  Inguar  (more  properly  Agnar)  and  Hubba, 
sons,  it  is  said,  of  the  still  more  celebrated  Kegnar  Lodbrog, 
invaded  Northumberland,  bringing  with  them  the  magical 
standard,  so  often  mentioned  in  poetry,  called  Reafest,  or 
Rumfan,  from  its  bearing  the  figure  of  a  raven : — 
"  Wrought  by  the  sisters  of  the  Danish  king, 
Of  furious  Ivar  in  a  midnight  hour: 
While  the  sick  moon,  at  their  enchanted  song 
Wrapt  in  pale  tempest,  labour'd  through  the  clouds. 
The  demons  of  destruction  then,  they  say, 
Were  all  abroad,  and  mixing  with  the  woof 
Their  baleful  power:  The  sisters  ever  sung, 
*  Shake,  standard,  shake  this  ruin  on  our  foes.'  " 

Thomson  and  Maixet's  Alfred 
The  Danes  renewed  and  extended  their  incursions,  and 


1 60  ROKEBY.  [C^TO  IV. 

And  the  broad  shadow  of  her  wing 
Blacken'd  each  cataract  and  spring, 
Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  his  source, 
Thundering  o'er  Caldron  and  High-Force  ;  * 
Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came, 
Fix'd  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name,^ 

began  to  colonize,  establishing  a  kind  of  capital  at  York, 
from  which  they  spread  their  conquests  and  incursions  in 
every  direction.  Stanmore,  which  divides  the  mountains  of 
Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  was  probably  the  boundary 
of  the  Danish  kingdom  in  that  direction.  The  district  to  the 
west,  known  in  ancient  British  history  by  the  name  of  Keged, 
had  never  been  conquered  by  the  Saxons,  and  continued  to 
maintain  a  precarious  independence  until  it  was  ceded  to 
Malcolm,  King  of  Scots,  by  William  the  Conqueror,  probably 
on  account  of  its  similarity  in  language  and  manners  to  the 
neighbouring  British  kingdom  of  Strath-Clyde. 

Upon  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  Danish  sovereignty  in 
Northumberland,  the  curious  may  consult  the  various  author- 
ities quoted  in  the  Gesta  et  Vestigia  Dcmorum  extra  Daniam, 
tom.  ii.  p.  40.  The  most  powerful  of  their  Northumbrian 
leaders  seems  to  have  been  Ivar,  called,  from  the  extent  of 
his  conquests,  Widfam,  that  is,  The  Strider. 

1  The  Tees  rises  about  the  skirts  of  Crossfell,  and  fill  Is  over 
the  cataracts  named  in  the  text  before  it  leaves  the  moun- 
tains which  divide  the  North-Riding  from  Cumberland. 
High-Force  is  seventy-five  feet  in  height. 

2  The  heathen  Danes  have  left  several  traces  of  their  re- 
ligion in  the  upper  part  of  Teesdale.  Balder-garth,  which 
derives  its  name  from  the  unfortunate  son  of  Odin,  is  a  tract 
i.'if  waste  land  on  the  very  jidge  of  Stanmore;  and  a  brook, 
which  falls  into  the  Tees  near  Barnard  Castle,  is  named  after 
the  same  deity.  A  field  upon  the  banks  of  the  Tees  is  also 
teriLed  Woden-Croft,  from  the  supreme  deity  of  the  Edda. 
Thorsgill,  of  which  a  description  is  attempted  in  stanza  ii.,  is 
a  beautiful  little  brook  and  dell,  running  up  behind  the  ruin? 


CASTOIV.J  BOKEBT.  161 

Rear'd  high  their  altar's  rugged  stone, 
And  gave  their  Gods  the  land  they  won. 
Then,  Balder,  one  bleak  garth  was  thine, 
And  one  sweet  brooklet's  silver  line, 
And  Woden's  Croft  did  title  gain 
From  the  stern  Father  of  the  Slain ; 
But  to  the  Monarch  of  the  Mace, 
That  held  in  fight  the  foremost  place, 
To  Odin's  son,  and  Sifia's  spouse, 
Near  Stratforth  high  they  paid  their  vows, 
Remember'd  Thor's  victorious  fame. 
And  gave  the  dell  the  Thunderer's  name. 

n. 
Yet  Scald  or  Kemper  err'd,  I  ween, 
Who  gave  that  soft  and  quiet  scene, 
With  all  its  varied  hght  and  shade. 
And  every  little  sunny  glade. 
And  the  blithe  brook  that  strolls  along 
Its  pebbled  bed  with  summer  song, 

of  Eglistone  Abbey.  Thor  was  the  Heixules  of  the  Scandi- 
na\ian  mythology,  a  dreadful  giant-queller,  and  in  that 
capacity  the  champion  of  the  gods,  and  the  defender  of  As- 
gard,  the  northern  Olympus,  against  the  frequent  attacks  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Jotunhem.  There  is  an  old  poem  in  the 
Edda  of  Soemund,  called  the  Song  of  Thrym,  which  turns 
upon  the  loss  and  recovery  of  the  Mace,  or  Hammer,  which 
was  Thor's  principal  weapon,  and  on  which  much  of  his 
power  seems  to  have  depended.  It  may  be  read  to  great 
fidvantage  in  a  version  equally  spirited  and  literal,  among  the 
Miscellaneous  Translations  and  Poems  of  the  Honourable 
William  Herbert. 

VOL.  IV.  11 


162  ROKEBY.  [CASTO  IV. 

To  the  grim  God  of  blood  and  scar, 
I'he  grisly  King  of  Northern  War. 
O,  better  were  its  banks  assign'd 
To  spirits  of  a  gentler  kind  ! 
For  where  the  thicket -groups  recede, 
And  the  rath  primrose  decks  the  mead,* 
The  velvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 
For  the  light  fairies'  hvely  feet. 
Yon  tufted  knoll,  with  daisies  strown, 
Might  make  proud  Oberon  a  throne, 
AYhile,  hidden  in  the  thicket  nigh, 
Puck  should  brood  o'er  his  frolic  sly  ; 
And  where  profuse  the  wood-vetch  clings 
Round  ash  and  elm,  in  verdant  rings, 
Its  pale  and  azure-pencili'd  flower 
Should  canopy  Titania's  bower. 

III. 
Here  rise  no  cliffs  the  vale  to  shade ; 
But,  skirting  every  sunny  glade, 
In  fair  variety  of  green 
The  woodland  lends  its  sylvan  screen. 
Hoary,  yet  haughty,  frowns  the  oak, 
Its  boughs  by  weight  of  ages  broke ; 
And  towers  erect,  in  sable  spire. 
The  pme-tree  scathed  by  Hghtning  fire ; 


1  [MS. — "  The  early  primrose  decks  the  mead, 
And  the  short  velvet  grass  seems  meet 
For  the  light  fairies'  frolic  feet."] 


CA.NTOIV.]  £OK£BX.  163 

The  di'oopiiig  ash  and  birch,  betweeo, 
Hang  their  fair  tresses  o'er  the  green. 
And  all  beneath,  at  random  grow 
Each  coppice  dwarf  of  varied  show, 
Or,  round  the  stems  profusely  twined, 
Fling  summer  odours  on  the  wind. 
Such  varied  group  Urbino's  hand 
Round  Him  of  Tarsus  nobly  plann'd, 
What  time  he  bade  proud  Athens  own 
On  Mars'  Mount  the  Grod  Unknown  ! 
Then  gray  Philosophy  stood  nigh, 
Though  bent  by  age,  in  spirit  high : 
There  rose  the  scar-seam'd  veteran's  spear, 
There  Grecian  Beauty  bent  to  hear, 
"While  Childhood  at  her  foot  was  placed. 
Or  clung  delighted  to  her  waist, 

rv. 
"  And  rest  we  here,"  Matilda  said, 
And  sat  her  in  the  vaiying  shade. 
'■  Chance-met,  we  well  may  steal  an  hour 
To  friendship  due  from  fortune's  power. 
Thou,  Wilfrid,  ever  kind,  must  lend 
Thy  counsel  to  thy  sister-friend  ; 
And,  Redmond,  thou,  at  my  behest. 
No  farther  urge  thy  desperate  'quest. 
For  to  my  care  a  charge  is  left. 
Dangerous  to  one  of  aid  bereft, 
Wellnigh  an  orphan,  and  alone, 
Captive  her  sire,  her  house  o'erthrown." 


164  KOKEBY.  ICANTO  IV 

Wilfrid,  with  wonted  kindness  graced, 
Reside  her  on  the  turf  she  placed ; 
Then  paused,  with  downcast  look  and  eye, 
Nor  bade  young  Redmond  seat  him  nigh. 
Her  conscious  diffidence  he  saw, 
Drew  backward  as  in  modest  awe. 
And  sat  a  little  space  removed, 
Unmark'd  to  gaze  on  her  he  loved. 

V. 

"Wreathed  in  its  dark-brown  rings,  her  hmr 
Half  hid  Matilda's  forehead  fair. 
Half  hid  and  half  reveal'd  to  view 
Her  full  dark  eye  of  hazel  hue. 
The  rose,  with  faint  and  feeble  streak. 
So  slightly  tinged  the  maiden's  cheek, 
That  you  had  said  her  hue  was  pale  ;  * 
But  if  she  faced  the  summer  gale, 
Or  spoke,  or  sung,  or  quicker  moved. 
Or  heard  the  praise  of  those  she  loved, 
Or  when  of  interest  was  express'd  ^ 
Aught  that  waked  feeling  in  her  breast, 
The  mantling  blood  in  ready  play 
Eivaird  the  blush  of  rising  day. 

*  [MS. — "  That  you  had  said  her  cheek  was  pale; 

But  if  she  faced  the  morning  gale, 
Or  longer  spoke,  or  quicker  moved."] 

*  [MS. — "  Or  aught  of  interest  was  express'd 

That  waked  a  feeling  in  her  breast, 

( like  morning  beam, 
The  mantling  blood,  j  .^  ^^^^^  ^j^^  „-, 


CAJSTO  ix.]  BOKEBY.  1  (yO 

There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 

A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face, 

That  suited  well  the  forehead  high, 

The  eyelash  dai-k,  and  downcast  eje  ; 

The  mild  expression  spoke  a  mind 

In  duty  firm,  composed,  resign'd  ; — 

'Tis  that  which  Roman  art  has  given, 

To  mark  their  maiden  Queen  of  Heaven. 

In  hours  of  sport,  that  mood  gave  way  ^ 

To  Fanc/s  light  and  frohc  play ; 

And  when  the  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 

In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along. 

Full  oft  her  doting  sire  would  call 

His  !Maud  the  merriest  of  them  alL 

But  days  of  war,  and  civil  crime, 

Allow'd  but  ill  such  festal  time. 

And  her  soft  pensiveness  of  brow 

Had  deepen'd  into  sadness  now. 

In  ]Marston  field  her  father  ta'en. 

Her  friends  dispersed,  brave  Mortham  slain, 

While  every  ill  her  soul  foretold, 

From  Oswald's  thirst  of  power  and  gold. 

And  boding  thoughts  that  she  must  part 

With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart, — ^ 

1  [MS. — "  In  fitting  hours  the  mood  gave  way 
To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  plav, 
When  the  blithe  dance,  or  tale,  or  wng. 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along, 
When  oft  her  doting  sire  would  call 
His  Maudlin  .oerriesr  of  them  alL"] 

*  fMS. — "  With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart. 

That  stole  its  seat,  ere  yet  she  knew 
The  guard  to  early  passion  due,"  J 


166  EOKEBY.  [CA2JTorv 

All  lowered  around  the  lovely  maid, 
To  dai'ken  her  dejection*s  shade. 

VI. 

AV^ho  has  not  heard — while  Erin  yet 
Strove  'gainst  the  Saxon's  iron  bit — 
"Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  O'Neale 
In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steeV 

1  The  O'Nea  2  here  meant,  for  more  than  one  succeeded  ta 
the  chieftainship  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  Hugh, 
the  grandson  of  Con  O'Neale,  called  Con  Bacco,  or  the  Lame. 
His  father,  Matthew  O'Kelly,  was  illegitimate,  and,  being  the 
Bon  of  a  blacksmith's  wife,  was  usually  called  Matthew  the 
Blacksmith.  His  father,  nevertheless,  destined  his  succession 
to  him;  and  he  was  created,  by  Elizabeth,  Baron  of  Dungan 
non.  Upon  the  death  of  Con  Bacco,  this  Matthew  was  slaia 
by  his  brother.  Hugh  narrowly  escaped  the  same  fate,  and 
was  protected  by  the  English.  Shane  O'Neale,  his  uncle, 
called  Shane  Dymas,  was  succeeded  by  Turlough  Lynogh 
O'Neale;  after  whose  death  Hugh,  having  assumed  the  chief- 
tainship, became  nearly  as  formidable  to  the  English  as  any 
by  whom  it  had  been  possessed.  He  rebelled  repe.»tedly,  and 
as  often  made  submissions,  of  which  it  was  usually  a  condi- 
tion that  he  should  not  any  longer  assume  the  title  of  O'Neale; 
in  lieu  of  which  he  was  created  Earl  of  Tyrone.  But  this 
condition  lie  never  observed  longer  than  until  the  pressure  of 
superior  force  was  withdrawn.  His  baffling  the  gallant  Earl 
of  Essex  in  the  field,  and  overreaching  him  in  a  treaty,  was 
the  induction  to  that  nobleman's  tragedy.  Lord  Mountjoy 
succeeded  in  finally  subjugating  O'Neale;  but  it  was  not 
till  the  succession  of  James,  to  whom  he  made  personal  sub- 
mission, and  was  received  with  civility  at  court.  Yet,  accord- 
h)g  to  Morrison,  "no  respect  to  him  could  containe  many 
weomen  in  those  parts,  who  had  lost  husbands  and  clii'.dren 
in  the  Irish  Avurres,  from  flinging  durt  and  stones  at  tlic  earle 


CAXTO  IV. J  ROKEBT.  1  G7 

Against  St.  George's  cross  blazed  high 

The  banners  of  his  Tanistry, 

To  fieiy  Essex  gave  the  foil, 

And  reign'd  a  prince  on  Ulster's  soil  ? 

But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride, 

When  that  brave  Marshal  fought  and  died,* 

And  Avon-Duff  to  ocean  bore 

His  billows  red  with  Saxon  gore. 

'Twas  first  in  that  disastrous  fight, 

Rokeby  and  Morthara  proved  their  might,* 

There  had  they  fallen  amongst  the  rest, 

But  pity  touch'd  a  chieftain's  breast ; 

The  Tanist  he  to  great  O'Neale  ;  * 

He  check'd  his  followers'  bloody  zeal. 

To  quarter  took  the  kinsmen  bold. 

And  bore  them  to  his  mountain-hold, 


as  he  passed,  and  from  reuiling  him  with  bitter  -words ;  yea, 
when  the  earle  had  been  at  court,  and  there  obtaining  his 
majestie's  direction  for  his  pardon  and  performance  of  all 
conditions  promised  him  by  the  Lord  Mountjoy,  was  about 
September  to  retume,  hee  durst  not  pass  by  those  parts  with- 
out direction  to  the  shiriffes,  to  convey  him  with  troopes  of 
horse  from  place  to  place,  till  he  was  safely  imbarked  and 
pat  to  sea  for  Ireland." — Itinerary,  p.  269. 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  F.] 

2  [MS. — "  And,  by  the  deep-resounding  More, 

The  English  veterans  heap'd  the  shore. 
It  was  in  that  disastrous  fight 
That  Rokeby  proved  his  youthful    ) 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  I  ^'K"**  J 
■  [MS. — "  A  kinsman  near  to  g-eat  O'Neale."! 
[Se^  Appendix,  Note  G.] 


168  BOKEBY.  [av2<TOIT 

Gave  them  each  sylvan  joy  to  know, 
Slieve-Donard's  cliffs  and  woods  could  show,^ 
Shared  with  them  Erin's  festal  cheer, 
Show'd  them  the  chase  of  wolf  and  deer, 
And,  when  a  fitting  time  was  come, 
Safe  and  unransom'd  sent  them  home, 
Loaded  with  many  a  gift,  to  prove 
A  generous  foe's  respect  and  love. 

VII. 

Years  speed  away.     On  Rokeby's  head 
Some  touch  of  eai-ly  snow  was  shed ; 
Calm  he  enjoy'd,  by  Greta's  wave, 
The  peace  which  James  the  Peaceful  gave. 
While  Mortham,  far  beyond  the  main, 
Waged  his  fierce  wars  on  Indian  Spain. — 
It  chanced  upon  a  wintry  night, ^ 
That  whiten'd  Stanmore's  stormy  height, 
The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  kill'd. 
In  Rokeby  hiill  the  cups  were  fill'd. 
And  by  the  huge  stone  chimney  sate 
The  Knight  in  hospitable  state. 
Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late, 
When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate, 
And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aid 
A  voice  of  foreign  accent  pray'd. 

1  [MS. — "  Gave  them  each  varied  joy  to  know 
The  woods  of  Ophalie  could  show."") 

•  [MS. "  a  stormy  night. 

When  early  snow  clad  Stanmore's  height,"] 


OASTO  IV.]  BOKEBT.  1 69 

The  porter  answer'd  to  the  call, 
And  instant  rush'd  into  the  hall 
A  Man,  whose  aspect  and  attire  * 
Startled  the  circle  by  the  fire. 


VIII. 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread  ' 

Around  his  bare  and  matted  head ; 

On  leg  and  thigh,  close  stretch'd  and  trim. 

His  vesture  show'd  the  sinewy  limb ; 

In  saffron  dyed,  a  linen  vest 

"Was  fi-equent  folded  round  his  breast ; 

A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore, 

Shaggy  with  ice,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 

He  clasp'd  a  burden  to  his  heart. 

And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart. 

The  snow  from  hair  and  beard  he  shook. 

And  round  him  gazed  with  wilder'd  look. 

Then  up  the  hall,  with  staggering  pace. 

He  hasten'd  by  the  blaze  to  place, 

Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 

His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 

To  Rokeby,  next,  he  louted  low. 

Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show,* 

1  [MS.—"  And  instant  into  Rokeby-hall 

A  stranger  msh'd,  whose  wild  attire 
Startled,"  &c.] 

«  [See  Appendix,  Note  H.] 

*  [MS. — "  Shaggy  with  snow,  and  stain'd  with  gast. 
His  features  as  his  dress  were  wild. 
And  in  his  arms  he  bore  a  child. 


170  KOKEBY.  [CANTO  IV. 

With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone,' 
Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne.* 

With  staggering  and  unequal  pace, 
He  hasten'd  by  the  blaze  to  place. 
Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 
His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 
To  Kokeby  then,  with  solemn  air, 
He  turn'd  his  errand  to  declare."] 

1  [This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS.] 

2  The  Irish  chiefs,  in  their  intercourse  with  the  Engligh,  and 
with  each  other,  were  wont  to  assume  the  language  and  style 
of  independent  royalty.  Morrison  has  preserved  a  summons 
from  Tyrone  to  a  neighbouring  chieftain,  which  runs  in  the 
following  terms: — 

"  O'Neale  coramendeth  him  unto  you,  Morish  Fitz-Thomas ; 
O'Neale  requesteth  you,  in  God's  name,  to  take  part  with 
him,  and  fight  for  your  conscience  and  right;  and  in  so  doing, 
O'Neale  will  spend  to  sea  you  righted  in  all  your  aflfaires,  and 
will  help  you.  And  if  you  come  not  at  O'Neale  betwixt  this 
and  to-morrow  at  twelve  of  the  clocke,  and  take  his  part, 
O'Neale  is  not  beholding  to  you,  and  will  doe  to  the  uttermost 
of  his  power  to  overthrow  you,  if  you  come  not  to  him  at 
furthest  by  Satturday  noone.  From  Knocke  Dumayne  in 
Calrie,  the  fourth  of  February,  1599. 

"  O'Neale  requesteth  you  to  come  speake  with  him,  and 
doth  giue  you  his  word  that  you  shall  receive  no  harme  neither 
in  comming  nor  going  from  him,  whether  you  be  friend  or 
not,  and  bring  with  you  to  O'Neale  Gerat  Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed)  "O'Neale." 

Nor  did  the  royalty  of  O'Neale  consist  in  words  alone.  Sir 
J.hn  Harington  paid  him  a  visit  at  the  time  of  his  truo« 
w  ""ti  Essex,  and  after  mentioning  his  "  fern  table,  and  fern 
forms,  spread  under  the  stately  canopy  of  heaven,"  he  notices 
what  constitutes  the  real  power  of  every  monarch,  the  love, 
namely,  and  allegiance  of  his  subjects.  *'  His  guards,  for  the 
most  part,  were  beardless  boys  without  shirts ;  who  in  the 
^x)8t  wade  as  familiarly  through   rivers  as  water-spauiela. 


CAinoiv]  ROKEBT.  171 

"  Sir  Richard,  Lord  of  Rokebj.  hear ! 

Turlough  O'Xeale  salutes  thee  dear; 

He  graces  thee,  and  to  thj  care 

Young  Redmond  gives,  his  grandson  fair. 

He  bids  thee  breed  him  as  thy  son, 

For  Turlough's  days  of  joy  are  done  ; 

And  other  lords  have  seized  his  land, 

And  faint  and  feeble  is  his  hand  , 

And  all  the  glory  of  Tyrone 

Is  hke  a  morning  vapour  flown. 

To  bind  the  duty  on  thy  soul, 

He  bids  thee  think  on  Erin^s  bowl  I ' 

If  any  wrong  the  young  O'Xeale, 

He  bids  thee  think  of  Erin's  steeL 

To  Mortham  first  this  charge  was  due, 

But,  in  his  absence,  honours  you. — 

Now  is  my  master's  message  by, 

And  Ferraught  will  contented  die.** 

IX. 

His  look  grew  fix'd,  his  cheek  grew  pale, 
He  sunk  when  he  had  told  his  tale ; 
For,  hid  beneath  his  mantle  wide, 
A  mortal  wound  was  in  his  side. 


With  what  charm  such  a  master  makes  them  love  him,  I 
know  not;  but  if  he  bid  come,  they  come;  if  go,  they  do  go; 
f  he  say  do  this,  they  do  it." — yugoe  Antiqua.     Lend,  1784, 
vo.  vol.  i.  p.  251. 
1  [MS. — "  To  bind  the  charge  upon  thy  soul, 
Bemember  Erin's  sociaJ  bowl!"] 


172  ROKEBY.  [CAXTO  IV 

Vain  was  all  aid — in  terror  wild, 
And  sorrow,  scream'd  the  orphan  Child. 
Poor  Ferraught  raised  his  wistful  eyes, 
And  faintly  strove  to  soothe  his  cries ; 
All  reckless  of  his  dying  pain, 
He  blest,  and  blest  him  o'er  again ! 
And  kiss'd  the  little  hands  outspread, 
And  kiss'd  and  cross'd  the  infant  head. 
And,  in  his  native  tongue  and  phrase, 
Pray'd  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days ; 
Then  all  his  strength  together  drew. 
The  charge  to  Rokeby  to  renew. 
When  half  was  falter'd  from  his  breast, 
And  half  by  dying  signs  express'd, 
«  Bless  the  O'Neale  !  "  he  faintly  said, 
And  thus  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

X. 

*Twas  long  ere  soothing  might  prevail 
Upon  the  Child  to  end  the  tale : 
And  then  he  said,  that  from  his  home 
His  grandsire  had  been  forced  to  roam, 
Which  had  not  been  if  Redmond's  hand 
Had  but  had  strength  to  draw  the  brand. 
The  brand  of  Lenaugh  More  the  Red, 
That  hung  beside  the  grey  wolf's  head. — 
'Twas  from  his  broken  phrase  descried, 
His  ibster-father  was  his  guide,^ 

'  There  was  no  tie  more  sacred  among  the  Irish  than  thai 


DAHTO  IV. j  KOKEBY.  178 

Who,  in  his  charge,  from  Ulster  bore 
Letters,  and  gifts  a  goodly  store  ; 
But  ruffians  met  them  in  the  wood, 
Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood. 
Till  wounded  and  o'erpower'd  at  length, 
And  stripped  of  all,  his  failing  strength 
Just  bore  him  here — and  then  the  child 
Renew'd  again  his  moaning  wild.^ 

which  connected  the  foster-father,  as  well  as  the  nurse  her- 
self, with  the  child  they  brought  up. 

**  Foster-fathers  spend  much  more  time,  money,  and  affec- 
tion on  their  foster-children  than  their  own;  and  in  return 
take  from  them  clothes,  money  for  their  several  professions, 
and  arms,  and,  even  for  any  vicious  purposes,  fortunes  and 
cattle,  not  so  much  by  a  claim  of  right  as  by  extortion ;  and 
they  will  even  carrj'  those  things  off  as  plunder.  All  who 
have  been  nursed  by  the  same  person  preserve  a  greater  mu- 
tual affection  and  confidence  in  each  other  than  if  they  were 
natural  brothers,  whom  they  will  even  1  ate  for  the  sake  of 
these.  When  chid  by  their  parents,  they  fly  to  their  foster- 
fathers,  who  frequently  encourage  them  to  make  open  war 
on  their  parents,  train  them  up  to  every  excess  of  wickedness, 
and  make  them  most  abandoned  miscreants ;  as,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  nurses  make  the  young  women,  whom  they  bring 
up  for  every  excess.  If  a  foster-child  is  sick,  it  is  incredible 
how  soon  the  nurses  hear  of  it,  however  distant,  and  with 
whr.t  solicitude  they  attend  it  by  day  and  night." — Giraldug 
Cambj-ensis,  quoted  by  Cambden,  iv.  368. 

This  custom,  like  many  other  Irish  usages,  prevailed  till 
of  late  in  the  Scottish  Highlands,  and  was  cherished  by  the 
chiefs  as  an  easy  mode  of  extending  their  influence  and  con- 
aection;  and  even  in  the  Lowlands,  during  the  hist  century, 
the  conne  ^lion  between  the  nurse  and  foster-child  was  seldom 
dissolved  but  by  the  death  of  one  party. 

1  [Here  follows  in  the  MS.  a  stanza  of  sixteen  lines,  which 
<he  author  subsequently  dispersed  through  stanzas  xv.  and 
XYi.,  post.} 


174  ROKEBY.  [c.iJ<TOI\. 

XI. 

The  toai',  down  childhood's  cheek  that  flows, 
Is  like  the  dewdrop  on  the  rose ; 
When  next  the  summer  breeze  comes  by, 
And  waves  the  bush,  the  flower  is  dry. 
Won  by  their  care,  the  orphan  Child 
Soon  on  his  new  protector  smiled, 
With  dimpled  cheek  and  eye  so  fair, 
Through  his  thick  curls  of  flaxen  hair, 
But  blithest  laugh'd  that  cheek  and  eye, 
When  Rokeby's  little  Maid  was  nigh ; 
'Twas  his,  with  elder  brother's  pride, 
Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide ;  * 
His  native  lays  in  Irish  tongue. 
To  soothe  her  infant  ear  he  sung, 
And  primrose  twined  with  daisy  fair. 
To  form  a  chaplet  for  her  hair. 
By  lawn,  by  grove,  by  brooklet's  strand. 
The  Children  still  were  hand  and  hand. 
And  good  Sir  Richard  smihng  eyed 
The  early  knot  so  kindly  tied. 

XII. 

But  summer  months  bring  wilding  shoot 
From  bud  to  bloom,  from  bloom  to  fruit ; 
And  years  draw  on  our  human  span, 
From  child  to  boy,  from  boy  to  man ; 


>  [MS. — "  Three  years  more  old,  'twas  Redmond's  pride 
Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide."] 


CANTO  IV.]  HOKEBY.  175 


And  soon  in  Rokeby's  woods  is 

A  gallant  boy  in  hunter's  gi-een. 

He  loves  to  wake  the  felon  boar, 

In  his  dark  haunt  on  Greta's  shore, 

And  loves,  against  the  deer  so  dun, 

To  draw  the  shaft,  or  lift  the  gun: 

Yet  more  he  loves,  in  autumn  prime, 

The  hazel's  spreading  bows  to  climb. 

And  down  its  cluster'd  stores  to  hail. 

Where  young  Matilda  holds  her  veil. 

And  she,  whose  veil  receives  the  shower,* 

Is  alter'd  too,  and  knows  her  power ; 

Assumes  a  monitress's  pride. 

Her  Redmond's  dangerous  sports  to  chide ; 

Yet  listens  still  to  hear  him  teU 

How  the  grim  wild-boar  ^  fought  and  fell, 

How  at  his  fall  the  bugle  rung, 

Till  rock  and  greenwood  answer  flung ; 

Then  blesses  her,  that  man  can  find 

A  pastime  of  such  savage  kind !  ^ 

XITI. 

But  Redmond  knew  to  weave  his  tale 
So  well  with  praise  of  wood  and  dale, 
And  knew  so  well  each  point  to  trace. 
Gives  living  interest  to  the  chase, 

I  [MS.—*'  And  she  on  whom  these  treasures  ihower.  *] 
«  [MS.—"  Grim  sauglier."] 

»  [MS. — "  Then  bless'd  himself  that  man  can  find 
A  pastime  of  such  cruel  kind.'M 


176  ROKEB  r.  [canto  n 

And  knew  so  well  o'er  all  to  throw 

His  spirit's  wild  romantic  glow, 

That,  while  she  blamed,  and  while  she  feared, 

She  loved  each  venturous  tale  she  heard. 

Oft,  too,  when  drifted  snow  and  rain 

To  bower  and  hall  their  steps  restrain, 

Together  they  explor'd  the  page 

Of  glowing  bard  or  gifted  sage ; 

Oft,  placed  the  evening  fire  beside, 

The  minstrel  art  alternate  tried. 

While  gladsome  harp  and  lively  lay 

Bade  winter-night  flit  fast  away : 

Thus  from  their  childhood  blending  still 

Their  sport,  their  study,  and  their  skill, 

An  union  of  the  soul  they  prove, 

But  must  not  think  that  it  was  love. 

But  though  they  dared  not,  envious  Fame 

Soon  dared  to  give  that  union  name  ; 

And  when  so  often,  side  by  side, 

From  year  to  year  the  pair  she  eyed. 

She  sometimes  blamed  the  good  old  Kiiight^ 

As  dull  of  ear  and  dim  of  sight. 

Sometimes  his  purpose  Avould  declare, 

That  young  O'Neale  should  wed  his  heir. 

XIV. 

The  suit  of  Wilfrid  rent  disguise 
And  bandage  from  the  lovers'  eyes  ;  * 

1  [MS. — "  From  their  hearts  and  eyes."] 


CA«TO  IV.]  ROKEBT.  177 

*Twas  plain  that  Oswald,  for  his  son, 

Had  Rokeb}-'s  favour  welbiigh  won. 

Now  must  they  meet  with  change  of  cheer, 

With  mutual  looks  of  shame  and  fear ; 

Now  must  Matilda  stray  apart, 

To  school  her  disobedient  heart : 

And  Redmond  now  alone  must  rue 

The  love  he  never  can  subdue. 

But  factions  rose,  and  Rokeby  sware,* 

No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  heir  ; 

And  Redmond,  nurtured  while  a  child 

In  many  a  bard's  traditions  wild. 

Now  sought  the  lonely  wood  or  stream, 

To  cherish  there  a  happier  di'eam, 

Of  maiden  won  by  sword  or  lance, 

As  in  the  regions  of  romance  ; 

And  count  the  heroes  of  his  hne,^ 

Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine,' 

I  [MS.—"  And  Redmond,  too,  apart  must  me, 
The  love  he  never  can  subdue; 
Then  came  the  war,  and  Rokeby  said, 
No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  maid."] 

»  [MS.-"  Thought  on  the  {  ^ZTi^vs  \  ''^  ^'^  ^^''®' 
Great  Xial  of  the  Pledges  Nine, 
Shane-Dymas  wild,  and  Connan-Mar, 
Who  vow'd  his  race  to  wounds  and  war. 
And  cursed  all  of  his  lineage  born. 
Who  sheathed  the  ?word  to  reap  the  com, 
Or  left  the  green-wood  and  the  wold, 
To  shroud  hnnself  in  Irmse  or  ..old."] 

»  Weal  Nairhvallach,  or  Of  the  Nine  Hostages,  is  said   tc 
VOL.  IV.  12 


1 7  8  R  OK  EBT.  !  r A>  TO  I V. 

Shane-Dymas  *  wild,  and  Geraldine,^ 
And  Connan-more,  who  vow'd  his  race 
Forever  to  the  fight  and  chase, 
And  cursed  him  of  his  lineage  born, 
Should  sheathe  the  sword  to  reap  the  com, 
Or  leave  the  mountain  and  the  wold, 
To  shroud  himself  in  castled  hold. 
From  such  examples  hope  he  drew, 
And  brighten'd  as  the  trumpet  blew. 


have  been  monarch  of  all  Ireland,  during  the  end  of  the 
fourth  or  beginning  of  the  fifth  century.  He  exercised  a 
predatory  warfare  on  the  coast  of  England  and  of  Bretagne, 
orArmorica;  and  from  the  latter  country  brought  off  the 
celebrated  Saint  Patrick,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  among  other 
captives,  whom  he  transported  to  Ireland.  Neal  derived  his 
epithet  from  nine  nations,  or  tribes,  whom  he  held  under  his 
eubjection,  and  from  whom  he  took  hostages.  From  one  of 
Neal's  sons  were  derived  the  Kineleoguin,  or  Race  of  TjTone, 
which  afforded  monarchs  both  to  Ireland  and  to  Ulster.  NeaJ 
according  to  0' Flaherty's  Ogygia)  was  killed  by  a  poisoned 
urrow,  in  one  of  his  descents  on  the  coast  of  Bretagne. 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  I.] 

2  The  O'Neales  were  closely  allied  with  this  powerful  and 
warlike  family;  for  Henry  Owen  O'Neale  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  their  son  Con-More 
married  his  cousin-gevman,  a  daughter  of  Gerald  Earl  of  Kil- 
dare. This  Con-More  cursed  any  of  his  posterity  who  should 
learn  the  English  language,  sow  corn,  or  build  houses,  so  as 
to  invite  the  English  to  settle  in  their  country.  Others 
ascribe  this  anathema  to  his  son  Con-Bacco.  Fearflatha 
O'Gnive,  bard  to  the  O'Neales  of  Clannaboy,  complains  in 
the  same  spirit  of  the  towers  and  ramparts  with  which  the 
•trangers  had  (Usfiyurcd  the  Aiir  sporting  fields  of  Erin.— Set 
V^ALK£R's  Irish  Bards,  p.  140. 


CASTO  IV .J  KOKEBT.  179 

XV. 

If  brides  were  won  by  heart  and  blade, 
Kedmond  had  both  his  cause  to  aid, 
And  all  beside  of  nurture  rare 
That  might  beseem  a  baron's  heir. 
Turlough  O'Neale,  in  Erin's  strife, 
On  Rokeby's  Lord  bestow'd  his  life, 
And  well  did  Rokeby's  generous  Knight 
Young  Redmond  for  the  deed  requite. 
Xor  was  his  libei-al  care  and  cost 
Upon  the  gallant  stripling  lost : 
Seek  the  North  Riding  broad  and  wide. 
Like  Redmond  none  could  steed  bestride  ; 
From  Tynemouth  search  to  Cumberland, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  wield  a  brand ; 
And  then,  of  humour  kind  and  free, 
And  bearing  him  to  each  degree 
With  frank  and  fearless  courtesy, 
There  never  youth  was  form'd  to  steal 
Upon  the  heart  like  brave  O'Neale. 

XVI. 

Sir  Richard  loved  him  as  his  son ; 

And  when  the  days  of  peace  were  done,    . 

And  to  the  gales  of  war  he  gave 

The  banner  of  his  sires  to  wave, 

Redmond,  distinguish'd  by  his  care. 

He  chose  that  honour'd  flag  to  bear,^ 

I  Lucy  infonns  us,  in  the  old  play  already  quoted,  how  the 


180  EOKEBT.  [canto  IV. 

And  named  his  page,  the  next  degree 
In  that  old  time  to  chivalry.^ 
In  five  pitch'd  fields  he  well  maintain'd 
The  honour'd  place  his  worth  obtain'd, 
And  high  was  Redmond's  youthful  name 
Blazed  in  the  roll  of  martial  fame. 
Had  fortune  smiled  on  Marston  fight, 
The  eve  had  seen  him  dubb'd  a  knight ; 
Twice,  'mid  the  battle's  doubtful  strife, 
Of  E-okeby's  Lord  he  saved  the  life, 
But  when  he  saw  him  prisoner  made, 
He  kiss'd  and  then  resign'd  his  blade,* 
And  yielded  him  an  easy  prey 
To  those  who  led  the  Knight  away ; 
Resolv'd  Matilda's  sire  should  prove 
In  prison,  as  in  fight,  his  love. 

XVII. 

When  lovers  meet  in  adverse  hour, 

'Tis  like  a  sun-ghmpse  through  a  shower, 

cavalry  raised  by  the  country  gentlemen  for  Charles's  service 
were  usually  officered.  "  You,  cornet,  have  a  name  that'f 
proper  for  all  cornets  to  be  called  by,  for  they  are  all  beard 
less  boys  in  our  army.  The  most  part  of  our  horse  were 
raised  thus:  The  honest  country  gentleman  raises  the  troop 
at  his  own  charge ;  then  he  gets  a  Low-country  lieutenant  tc 
fight  his  troop  safely;  then  he  sends  for  his  son  from  schoo 
to  be  his  cornet;  and  then  he  puts  oflf  his  child's  coat  to  pn 
Ml  a  buff-coat:  and  this  is  the  constitution  of  our  army." 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  K.J 

2  [MS. — "  His  valour  saved  old  Rokeby's  life. 

But  when  he  saw  him  prisoner  made 

He  kiss'd  and  then  flung  down  his  blade."] 


OAJJTOrv.J  ROKEBY.  181 

A  watery  ray,  an  instant  seen 

The  darkly  closing  clouds  between. 

As  Redmond  on  the  turf  reclined, 

The  past  and  present  fill'd  his  mind  *  * 

"  It  was  not  thus,'*  Affection  said, 

"  I  dream'd  of  my  return,  dear  maid ! 

Not  thus,  when  from  thy  trembling  hand, 

I  took  the  banner  and  the  brand, 

"When  round  me,  as  the  bugles  blew, 

Their  blades  three  hundred  warriors  drew, 

And,  while  the  standard  I  unroll'd, 

Clash'd  their  bright  arms,  with  clamour  bold. 

TRiere  is  that  banner  now  ? — its  pride 

Lies  'whelm'd  in  Ouse's  sullen  tide ! 

Where  now  these  warriors  ? — m  their  gore. 

They  cumber  Marston's  dismal  moor  ! 

And  what  avails  a  useless  brand, 

Held  by  a  captive's  shackled  hand, 

That  only  would  his  hfe  retain, 

To  aid  thy  sire  to  bear  his  chain  ! " 

Thus  Redmond  to  himself  apart ; 

Nor  Hghter  was  his  rival's  heart ; 

For  Wilfrid,  while  his  generous  soul 

Disdain'd  to  profit  by  control, 

By  many  a  sign  could  mark  too  plain, 

Save  with  such  aid,  his  hopes  were  vain. — 


I  ["After  this  line  the  MS.  has:— 

"  His  ruin'd  hopes,  impending  tooes-- 
Till  in  his  eye  the  tear-drop  rose/^l 


t82  ROKEBT.  [canto  IV 

But  now  Matilda's  accents  stole 
On  the  dark  visions  of  their  soul, 
And  bade  their  mournful  musing  fly, 
Like  mist  before  the  zephyr's  sigh. 

XVITI. 

"  I  need  not  to  my  friends  recall, 
How  Mortham  shunn'd  my  father's  hall ; 
A  man  of  silence  and  of  woe. 
Yet  ever  anxious  to  bestow 
On  my  poor  self  whate'er  could  prove 
A  kinsman's  confidence  and  love. 
My  feeble  aid  could  sometimes  chase 
The  clouds  of  sorrow  for  a  space  : 
But  often er,  fix'd  beyond  my  power,^ 
i  mark'd  his  deep  despondence  lower. 
One  dismal  cause,  by  all  unguess'd, 
His  fearful  confidence  confess'd ; 
And  twice  it  was  my  hap  to  see 
Examples  of  that  agony, 
Which  for  a  season  can  o'erstrain 
And  wreck  the  structure  of  the  brain. 
He  had  the  awful  power  to  know 
The  approaching  mental  overthrow, 
And  while  his  mind  had  courage  yet 
To  struggle  with  the  dreadful  fit, 

'  [MS.—"  But  oftener  'twas  my  hap  to  see 
Such  storms  of  bitter  agony, 
As  for  the  moment  would  o'erstram 
And  wreck  the  balance  of  the  brain."] 


CAUTO  IV.J  ROKEBT.  183 

The  victim  writhed  against  its  throes,* 
Like  wretch  beneath  a  murderer's  blows. 
This  maladj,  I  well  could  mark, 
Sprung  from  some  direful  cause  and  dark ; 
But  still  lie  kept  its  source  conceal'd, 
Till  arming  for  the  civil  Held ; 
Then  in  mj  charge  he  bade  me  hold 
A  treasure  huge  of  gems  and  gold, 
With  this  disjointed  dismal  scroll. 
That  tells  the  secret  of  his  soul, 
In  such  wild  words  as  oft  betray 
A  mind  by  anguish  forced  astray .'* 

XIX. 

moktham's  history. 
"  Matilda  !  thou  hast  seen  me  start, 
As  if  a  dagger  thrill'd  my  heart. 
When  it  has  happ'd  some  casual  phrase 
Waked  memory  of  my  former  days. 
Believe,  that  few  can  backward  cast 
Their  thoughts  with  pleasure  on  the  past ; 
But  I ! — my  youth  was  rash  and  vain,* 
And  blood  and  rage  my  manhood  stain, 
And  my  gray  hairs  must  now  descend 
To  my  cold  grave  without  a  friend ! 
Even  thou,  Matilda,  wilt  disown 
Thy  kinsman,  when  his  guilt  is  known. 


1  [MS. "  beneath  his  throes."] 

2  [MS. — "  My  youth  was  folly's  reign."] 


184  EOKEBY.  [canto  IV 

And  must  I  lift  the  bloody  veH, 

That  hides  my  dark  and  fatal  tale ! 

1  must — I  will — Pale  phantom,  cease ! 

Leave  me  one  little  hour  in  peace ! 

Thus  haunted,  think'st  thou  I  have  skill 

Thine  own  commission  to  fulfil? 

Or,  while  thou  point'st  with  gesture  fierce 

Thy  blighted  cheek,  thy  bloody  hearse, 

How  can  I  paint  thee  as  thou  wert, 

So  fair  in  face,  so  warm  in  heart  !— 

XX. 

"  Yes,  she  was  fair ! — Matilda,  thou 
Hast  a  soft  sadness  on  thy  brow  ; 
But  hers  was  Uke  the  sunny  glow, 
That  laughs  on  earth  and  all  below ! 
We  wedded  secret — there  was  need — 
Differing  in  country  and  in  creed ; 
And  when  to  Morthara's  tower  she  came. 
We  mentioned  not  her  race  and  name, 
Until  thy  sire,  who  fought  afar,^ 
Should  turn  him  home  from  foreign  war, 
On  whose  kind  influence  we  relied 
To  soothe  her  father's  ire  and  pride. 
Few  months  we  Uved  retired,  unknown, 
To  all  but  one  dear  friend  alone, 
One  darling  friend — I  spare  his  shame, 
I  will  not  write  the  villain's  name  ! 

1  [MS.— »  Until  thy  father,  then  afar."] 


CANTO  IV.]  KOKEBT.  1^5 

My  trespasses  I  might  forget,* 
And  sue  in  vengeance  for  the  debt 
Due  by  a  brother  worm  to  me, 
Ungrateful  to  God's  clemency,*^ 
That  spared  me  penitential  time, 
Nor  cut  me  off  amid  my  crime. — 

XXI. 

"  A  kindly  smile  to  all  she  lent, 

But  on  her  husband's  friend  'twas  bent 

So  kind,  that  from  its  harmless  glee,* 

The  wretch  misconstrued  villany. 

Repulsed  in  his  presumptuous  love, 

A  'vengeful  snare  the  traitor  wove. 

Alone  we  sat — the  flask  had  flow'd, 

My  blood  with  heat  unwonted  glow'd. 

When  through  the  alley'd  walk  we  spied 

With  hurried  step  my  Edith  ghde. 

Cowering  beneath  the  verdant  screen, 

As  one  unwilling  to  be  seen. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  fiendish  smile, 

That  curf d  the  traitor's  cheek  the  while ! 

Fiercely  I  question'd  of  the  cause  ; 

He  made  a  cold  and  artful  pause, 

Then  pray'd  it  might  not  chafe  my  mood — 

'  There  was  a  gallant  m  the  wood  ! ' — 


[MS. — "  I,  a  poor  debtor,  should  forget."] 
[MS. — "  Forgetting  God's  own  clemency."] 
.IS. — •  So  kindly,  that  from  harmless  glee."  | 


186  ROKEBT.  [CANTO  IV. 

We  had  been  shooting  at  the  deer ; 
My  cross-bow  (evil  chance  !)  was  near : 
Tliat  ready  weapon  of  my  wrath 
I  caught,  and,  hasting  up  the  path,* 
In  the  yew  grove  my  wife  I  found, 
A  stranger's  arms  her  neck  had  bound ! 
I  mark'd  his  heart — the  bow  I  drew — 
I  loosed  the  shaft — 'twas  more  than  true  I 
I  found  my  Edith's  dying  charms 
Lock'd  in  her  murder  d  brother's  arms  ! 
He  came  in  secret  to  enquire 
Her  state,  and  reconcile  her  sire.^ 

xxn. 
**  All  fled  my  rage — the  villain  first, 
Whose  craft  my  jealousy  had  nursed ;  ' 
He  sought  in  far  and  foreign  clime 
To  'scape  the  vengeance  of  his  crime. 
The  manner  of  the  slaughter  done 
Was  known  to  few,  my  guilt  to  none ; 
Some  tale  my  faithful  steward  framed^ 
I  know  not  what — of  shaft  mis-aimed ; 
And  even  from  those  the  act  who  knew, 
He  hid  the  hand  from  which  it  flew. 
Untouched  by  human  laws  I  stood. 
But  God  had  heard  the  cry  of  blood  I 

1  [MS. — "  I  caught  a  cross-bow  that  was  near, 
The  readiest  weapon  of  ray  wrath, 
And  hastening  up  the  Greta  path/'] 

«  [This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS.] 


JAiJXO  IV.]  ROKEBY. 

There  is  a  blank  upon  my  mind, 

A  fearful  vision  ill-defined, 

Of  raving  till  my  flesh  was  torn, 

Of  dungeon-bolts  and  fetters  worn — 

And  when  I  waked  to  wo  more  mild, 

And  qucstion'd  of  my  infant  child — 

(Have  I  not  written,  that  she  bare 

A  boy,  like  summer  morning  fair  ?) — 

With  looks  confused  my  menials  tell 

That  armed  men  in  Mortham  dell 

Beset  the  nurse's  evening  w^ay, 

And  bore  her,  with  her  charge,  away. 

My  faithless  friend,  and  none  but  he, 

Could  profit  by  this  villany  ; 

Him  then,  I  sought,  with  purpose  dread 

Of  treble  vengeance  on  his  head ! 

He  'scaped  me — but  my  bosom's  wound 

Some  faint  relief  from  wandering  found ; 

And  over  distant  land  and  sea 

I  bore  my  load  of  misery. 

xxui. 
« 'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  led 
Among  a  daring  crew  and  dread,^ 
With  whom  full  oft  my  hated  life 
I  ventui-ed  in  such  desperate  strife. 
That  even  my  fierce  associates  saw 
My  frantic  deeds  with  doubt  and  awe. 

1  [MS.—"  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  threw 
Among  a  wild  and  daring  crew."] 


187 


186  KOKEBY.  [CAHTOIV 

Much  then  I  learned,  and  much  can  show, 

Of  human  guilt  and  human  wo, 

Yet  ne'er  have,  m  my  wanderings,  known 

A  wretch,  whose  sorrows  match'd  my  own  I — 

It  chanced,  that  after  battle  fray. 

Upon  the  bloody  field  we  lay  ; 

The  yellow  moon  her  lustre  shed 

Upon  the  wounded  and  the  dead. 

While,  sense  in  toil  and  wassail  drown'd. 

My  ruffian  comrades  slept  around, 

There  came  a  voice — its  silver  tone 

liVas  soft,  Matilda,  as  thine  own — 

*  Ah,  wretch  ! '  it  said, '  what  makest  thou  here. 

While  unavenged  my  bloody  bier. 

While  unprotected  lives  mine  heir, 

Without  a  father's  name  and  care  ?  * . 

XXIV. 

"  I  heard — obey'd — and  homeward  drew ; 

The  fiercest  of  our  desperate  crew 

I  brought  at  time  of  need  to  aid 

My  purposed  vengeance,  long  delay'd. 

But,  humble  be  my  thanks  to  Heaven, 

That  better  hopes  and  thoughts  has  given, 

And  by  our  Lord's  dear  prayer  has  taught, 

Mercy  by  mercy  must  be  bought ! — 

Let  me  in  misery  rejoice — 

I've  seen  his  face — I've  heard  his  voice — 

I  claim'd  of  him  my  only  child — 

As  he  disown'd  the  theft,  he  smiled ! 


;a>'TO  IV.J  KOKEBr.  189 

That  very  calm  and  callous  look, 
That  fiendish  sneer  his  visage  took, 
As  when  he  said,  in  scornful  mood, 
*  There  is  a  gallant  in  the  wood  ! ' — 
1  did  not  slay  him  as  he  stood — 
All  praise  be  to  my  Maker  given  ! 
Long  sufirance  is  one  path  to  heaven." 

XXV. 

Thus  far  the  woful  tale  was  heard, 
When  something  in  the  thicket  stirr'd. 
Up  Redmond  sprung ;  tlie  villain  Guy, 
(For  he  it  was  that  lurk'd  so  nigh,) 
Drew  back — he  durst  not  cross  his  steel 
A  moment's  space  with  brave  O'Neale, 
For  all  the  treasured  gold  that  rests 
In  Mortham's  iron-banded  chests. 
Redmond  resumed  his  seat ; — he  said. 
Some  roe  was  rustling  in  the  shade. 
Bertram  laugh'd  grimly,  when  he  saw 
His  timorous  comi-ade  backward  draw ; 
"  A  trusty  mate  art  thou,  to  fear 
A  single  ai-m,  and  aid  so  near ! 
Yet  have  I  seen  thee  mark  a  deer. 
Give  me  thy  carabine — I'll  show 
An  art  that  thou  wilt  gladly  know, 
How  thou  mayst  safely  quell  a  foe.** 

XXVI. 

On  hands  and  knees  fierce  Bertram  drew 
The  spreading  bii'ch  and  hazels  through, 


190  ROKEBY.  f CANTO  IV. 

Till  Le  had  Redmond  full  in  view ; 

The  gun  he  levell'd — Mark  like  this 

Was  Bertram  never  known  to  miss, 

Wlien  fair  opposed  to  aim  there  sate 

An  object  of  his  mortal  hate. 

That  day  young  Redmond's  death  had  seen, 

But  twice  Matilda  came  between 

The  carabine  and  Redmond's  breast, 

Just  ere  the  spring  his  finger  press'd. 

A  deadly  oath  the  ruffian  swore. 

But  yet  his  fell  design  forbore  : 

"  It  ne'er,"  he  mutter'd,  *•  shall  be  said, 

That  thus  I  scath'd  thee,  haughty  maid ! " 

Then  moved  to  seek  more  open  aim. 

When  to  his  side  Guy  Denzil  came : 

"  Bertram,  forbear ! — we  are  undone 

Forever,  if  thou  fire  the  gun. 

By  all  the  fiends,  an  armed  force 

Descends  the  dell,  of  foot  and  horse  ! 

We  perish  if  they  hear  a  shot — 

Madman  !  we  have  a  safer  plot — 

Nay,  friend,  be  ruled,  and  bear  thee  back  I 

Behold,  down  yonder  hollow  track. 

The  warlike  leader  of  the  band 

Comes,  with  his  broadsword  in  his  hand." 

Bertram  look'd  up ;  he  saw,  he  knew 

That  Denzil's  fears  had  counsell'd  true, 

Then  cursed  his  fortune  and  withdrew, 

Threaded  the  woodlands  undescried. 

And  gain'd  the  cave  on  Greta  side. 


lASTOIV.]  ROKEBT.  191 

XXVII. 

They  whom  dark  Bertram,  in  his  wrath, 

Doom'd  to  captivity  or  death, 

Their  thoughts  to  one  sad  subject  lent, 

Saw  not  nor  heard  the  ambushment. 

Heedless  and  unconcem'd  they  sate, 

While  on  the  very  verge  of  fate ; 

Heedless  and  unconcem'd  remain'd, 

When  Heaven  the  murderer's  arm  restrained  j 

As  ships  drift  darkling  down  the  tide, 

Nor  see  the  shelves  o'er  which  they  glide. 

Uninterrupted  thus  they  heard 

What  Mortham's  closing  tale  declared. 

He  spoke  of  wealth  as  of  a  load. 

By  Fortune  on  a  wretch  bestow'd, 

In  bitter  mockery  of  hate, 

His  cureless  woes  to  aggravate ; 

But  yet  he  pray'd  Matilda's  care 

Might  save  that  treasure  for  his  heir — 

His  Edith's  son — for  still  he  raved 

As  confident  his  hfe  was  saved  ; 

In  frequent  vision,  he  averr'd, 

He  saw  his  foce,  his  voice  he  heard. 

Then  argued  calm — had  murder  been, 

The  blood,  the  corpses,  had  been  seen  ; 

Some  had  pretended,  too,  to  mark 

On  Windermere  a  stranger  bark, 

Whose  crew,  with  jealous  care,  yet  mild. 

Guarded  a  female  and  a  child. 

While  these  faint  proofs  he  told  and  press' d, 

Hope  seem'd  to  kindle  in  his  breast ; 


192  KOKEBY.  [canto  I? 

Though  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 
Tt  warp'd  his  judgment,  and  his  brain.* 

XXVIII. 

These  solemn  words  his  story  close  :— 
"  Heaven  witness  for  me,  that  I  chose 
My  part  in  this  sad  civil  fight. 
Moved  by  no  cause  but  England's  right 
My  country's  groans  have  bid  me  draw 
My  sword  for  gospel  and  for  law  ; — 
These  righted,  I  fling  arms  aside. 
And  seek  my  son  through  Europe  wide. 
My  wealth,  on  which  a  kinsman  nigh 
Already  casts  a  grasping  eye, 
With  thee  may  unsuspected  lie. 
When  of  my  death  Matilda  hears, 
Let  her  retain  her  trust  three  years ; 
K  none,  from. me,  the  treasure  claim, 
Perish'd  is  Mortham's  race  and  name. 
Then  let  it  leave  her  generous  hand, 
And  flow  in  bounty  o'er  the  land  ; 
Soften  the  wounded  prisoner's  lot, 
Rebuild  the  peasant's  ruined  cot ; 
So  spoils,  acquired  by  fight  afar, 
Shall  mitigate  domestic  war." 

XXIX. 

The  generous  youths,  who  well  had  known 
Of  Mortham's  miud  the  powerful  tone, 

1  [MS. — "  Hope,  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 

Seem'd  on  the  theme  to  warp  his  brain."] 


CAirroiT.]  BOKEBY.  193 

To  that  high  mind,  by  soitow  swerved, 

Gave  sympathy  his  woes  deserved ;  * 

But  Wilfrid  chief,  who  saw  reveal'd 

Why  Mortham  wish'd  his  lii^e  conceal'd. 

In  secret,  doubtless,  to  pursue 

The  schemes  his  wilder'd  fancy  drew. 

Thoughtful  he  heard  Matilda  tell, 

That  she  would  share  her  father's  cell, 

His  partner  of  captivity. 

Where'er  his  prison-house  should  be ; 

Yet  grieved  to  think  that  Rokeby-hall, 

Dismantled,  and  forsook  by  aU, 

Open  to  rapine  and  to  stealth, 

Had  now  no  safeguard  for  the  wealth. 

Intrusted  by  her  kinsman  kind. 

And  for  such  noble  use  design'd. 

*•  Was  Barnard  Castle  then  her  choice," 

Wilfrid  inquired  with  hasty  voice, 

"  Since  there  the  victor's  laws  ordain, 

Her  father  must  a  space  remain  ?  " 

A  flutter'd  hope  his  accents  shook, 

A  flutter'd  joy  was  in  his  look. 

Matilda  hasten'd  to  reply, 

For  anger  flash'd  in  Redmond's  eye  ;— 

"  Duty,"  she  said,  with  gentle  grace, 

"  Kind  Wilfrid,  has  no  choice  of  place ; 

Else  had  I  for  my  sire  assign'd 

Prison  less  galHng  to  his  mind, 

I  \1IS.— "  To  that  high  mind  thus  warp'd  and 
The  pity  gave  his  woes  deserved."] 
TOL.   IV.  13 


194  ROKEBi'.  [CAKl'OIV. 

Than  that  his  wild-wood  haunts  which  sees, 
And  hears  the  murmur  of  the  Tees, 
Recalling  thus,  with  every  glance, 
What  captive's  sorrow  can  enhance  ; 
But  where  those  woes  are  highest,  there 
Needs  Rokeby  most  his  daughter's  care  " 

XXX. 

He  felt  the  kindly  check  she  gave. 

And  stood  abash'd — then  answer'd  grave : — 

"  I  sought  thy  purpose,  noble  maid. 

Thy  doubts  to  clear,  thy  schemes  to  aid. 

I  have  beneath  mine  own  command, 

So  wills  my  sire,  a  gallant  band, 

And  well  could  send  some  horsemen  wight 

To  bear  the  treasure  forth  by  night, 

And  so  bestow  it  as  you  deem 

In  these  ill  days  may  safest  seem." — 

■"  Thanks,  gentle  Wilfrid,  thanks,"  she  said : 

"  0,  be  it  not  one  day  dela/d ! 

And,  more  thy  sister-friend  to  aid. 

Be  thou  thyself  content  to  hold, 

In  thine  own  keeping,  Mortham's  gold, 

Safest  with  thee." — While  thus  she  spoke, 

Arm'd  soldiers  on  their  converse  broke. 

The  same  of  whose  approach  afraid. 

The  ruffians  left  their  ambuscade. 

Their  chief  to  Wilfrid  bended  low, 

Then  look'd  around  as  for  a  foe. 


3AHTOIV.J  ROKEBY.  195 

"  What  mean'st  thou,  friend,"  young  Wycliffe 

said, 
"  Why  thus  in  arms  beset  the  glade  ?  ** — 
"  That  would  I  gladly  learn  from  you ; 
For  up  my  squadron  as  I  di-ew, 
To  exercise  our  martial  game 
Upon  the  moor  of  Barninghame,* 
A  stranger  told  you  were  waylaid, 
Surrounded,  and  to  death  betra/d. 
He  had  a  leader's  voice,  I  ween, 
A  falcon  glance,  a  warrior's  mien. 
He  bade  me  bring  you  instant  aid ; 
I  doubted  not,  and  I  obey'd." 

XXXI. 

Wilfrid  changed  colour,  and,  amazed, 
Tum'd  short,  and  on  the  speaker  gazed ; 
While  Redmond  every  thicket  round 
Track'd  earnest  as  a  questing  hound. 
And  Denzil's  carabine  he  found  ; 
Sure  evidence,  by  which  they  knew 
The  warning  was  as  kind  as  true.^ 
Wisest  it  seem'd,  with  cautious  speed 
To  leave  the  delL     It  was  agreed, 
That  Redmond,  with  Matilda  fair, 

1  [MS. — "  In  martial  exercise  to  move 
Upon  the  open  moor  above."] 
[MS.—"  And  they  the  gun  of  Denzil  find; 
A  witness  sure  to  ever}'  mind 
The  warning  was  as  true  as  kind."] 


196  ROKEBY.  [CAKTOIV. 

And  fitting  guard,  should  home  repair ;  * 
At  nightfall  Wilfrid  should  attend, 
With  a  strong  band,  his  sister-friend, 
To  bear  with  her  from  Rokeb/s  bowers 
To  Barnard  Castle's  lofty  towers, 
Secret  and  safe  the  banded  chests, 
In  which  the  wealth  of  Mortham  rests. 
This  hasty  purpose  fix'd,  they  part, 
fjach  \Nith  a  grieved  and  arvyious  heart. 

'  ^MS. "  It  was  agr«ed, 

That  Redmond,  with  jiatilda  fair, 
^should  straight  to  Kokeby  Hall  repair, 
KM,  foes  %o  neer  them,  known  so  late, 
4  em'^r^  fho^  l<?  tend  her  to  the  gate."] 


ROKEBY 


OAjrro  futh. 


R  0  K  E  B  V 

CANTO    FIFTH. 


I. 

The  sultry  summer  day  is  done, 
The  western  hilb  have  hid  the  sun. 
But  mountain  peak  and  village  spire 
Retain  reflection  of  his  fire. 
Old  Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still. 
To  those  that  gaze  from  Toller-hill ; 
Distant  and  high,  the  tower  of  Bowes 
Like  steel  upon  the  anvil  glows ; 
And  Stanmore's  ridge,  behind  that  lay. 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day, 
In  crimson  and  in  gold  arra/d. 
Streaks  yet  awhile  the  closing  shade, 
Then  slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven 
The  tints  which  brighter  hours  had  given. 
Thus  aged  men,  full  loth  and  slow, 
The  vanities  of  life  forego. 
And  count  their  youthful  follies  o*er, 
Till  Memory  lends  her  light  no  more.^ 
1  ["Tb3  fifth  canto  opens  with  an  CTening  scene,  of  iti 


200  ROKEBT.  LCAJSTO  V 

II. 

The  eve,  that  slow  on  upland  fades, 
Has  darker  closed  on  Rokeby's  glades. 
Where,  sunk  within  their  banks  profound, 
Her  guardian  slieums  to  meeting  wound. 
The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frown 
Of  noontide  made  a  twilight  brown. 
Impervious  now  to  fainter  light, 
Of  twilight  make  an  early  night.* 
Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose 
The  vespers  of  the  roosting  crows. 
And  with  congenial  murmurs  seem 
To  wake  the  Genii  of  the  stream ; 
For  louder  clamour'd  Greta's  tide. 
And  Tees  in  deeper  voice  replied. 
And  fitful  waked  the  evening  wind, 
Fitful  in  siojhs  its  breath  resiorn'd.^ 
"Wilfrid,  whose  fancy-nurtured  soul 
Felt  in  the  scene  a  soft  control, 
With  lighter  footstep  press'd  the  ground, 
And  often  paused  to  look  around ; 
And,  though  his  path  was  to  his  love. 
Could  not  but  linger  in  the  grove. 
To  drink  the  thrilling  interest  dear. 
Of  awful  pleasure  check'd  by  fear. 

accustomed  beauty  when  delineated  by  ^Ir.  Scott.  The 
mountain  fading  in  the  twilight,  isuobly  imagined." — MorUklii 
Review-I 

1  [MS. "  a  darksome  night."] 

2  [MS. — "  Ry  fits  awaked  the  evening  wind, 

Ba  fits  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd."] 


J  AUTO  V.J  ROKEBT.  201 

Such  inconsistent  moods  have  we, 
Even  when  our  passions  strike  the  key. 

ni. 

Now,  through  the  wood's  dark  mazes  past, 
The  opening  lawn  he  reach'd  at  last, 
Where,  silver'd  by  the  moonhght  ray, 
The  ancient  Hall  before  him  lay.^ 
Those  martial  terrors  long  were  fled, 
That  frown'd  of  old  around  its  head ; 
The  battlements,  the  turrets  gray, 
Seem'd  half  abandon'd  to  decay  ;  ^ 
On  barbican  and  keep  of  stone 
Stern  Time  the  foeman's  work  had  done. 
"Where  banners  the  invader  braved. 
The  harebell  now  and  wallflower  waved ; 
In  the  rude  guard-room,  where  of  yore 
Their  weary  hours  the  warders  wore, 
Now,  while  the  cheerful  fagots  blaze. 
On  the  paved  floor  the  spindle  plays  ;  * 

1  [MS.—"  Old  Rokeby's  towers  before  him  lay."] 

2  The  ancient  castle  of  Rokeby  stood  exactly  upon  the  site 
of  the  present  mansion,  by  which  a  part  of  its  walls  is  en- 
cli^ed.  It  is  surrounded  by  a  profusion  of  fine  wood,  and  the 
park  in  which  it  stands  i«  adorned  by  the  junction  of  the 
Greta  and  of  the  Tees.  The  title  of  Baron  Kokeby  of  Armagh 
was,  in  1777,  conferred  on  the  Right  Reverend  Richard  Rob- 
inson, Primate  of  Ireland,  descended  of  the  Robinsons,  Tcr 
merly  of  Rokeby,  in  Yorkshire. 

•  [MS.  — "  The  weary  night  the  warders  wore, 
Now  by  the  fagot's  g!a  Isome  light, 
The  maidens  plied  the  spiu'lle's  sleight,"] 


202  ROKEBT.  [cAjrro  v. 

The  flunking  guns  dismounted  lie, 
The  moat  is  ruinous  and  dry,* 
The  grim  portcullis  gone — and  all 
The  fortress  tum'd  to  peaceful  HalL 

IV. 

But  yet  precautions,  lately  ta'en,* 

Show'd  danger's  day  revived  again  ; 

The  court-yard  wall  show'd  marks  of  care, 

The  fall'n  defences  to  repair, 

Lending  such  strength  as  might  withstand 

The  insult  of  marauding  band. 

The  beams  once  more  were  taught  to  bear 

The  trembhng  drawbridge  into  air. 

And  not,  till  questioned  o'er  and  o'er. 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  jealous  door, 

And  when  he  entered,  bolt  and  bar 

Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar ; 

Then,  as  he  crossed  the  vaulted  porch, 

The  old  grey  porter  raised  his  torch, 

1  [MS. — '■'■  The  beams  had  long  forgot  to  bear 

The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air; 

The  huge  portcullis  gone,"  &c.] 
*  [MS. — "  But  yet  precaution  show'd,  and  fear, 

That  dread  of  evil  times  was  here ; 

There  were  late  marks  of  jealous  j 

For  there  were  recent  marks  of  J  ^^ 

The  fall'n  defences  to  repair; 

And  not,  till  question' d  o'er  and  o'er, 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the    { f^lf^^^  |  door, 

And,  on  his  entry,  bolt  and  bar 
Besumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar."] 


TAHTO  v.]  ROKEBY.  203 

And  view'd  him  o'er,  from  foot  to  head, 
Ere  to  the  hall  his  steps  he  led. 
That  huge  old  hall,  of  knightly  state, 
Dismantled  seem'd  and  desolate. 
The  moon  through  transom-shafts  of  stone, 
"Which  cross'd  the  latticed  oriels,  shone, 
And  by  the  mournful  light  she  gave, 
The  Gothic  vault  seem'd  funeral  cave. 
Pennon  and  banner  waved  no  more 
O'er  beams  of  stag  and  tusks  of  boar, 
Nor  glimmering  arms  were  marshall'd  seen, 
To  glance  those  sylvan  spoils  between. 
Those  arms,  those  ensigns,  borne  away, 
Accomplish'd  Rokeby's  brave  array. 
But  all  were  lost  on  Marston's  day  ! 
Yet  here  and  there  the  moonbeams  fall 
Where  armour  yet  adorns  the  wall, 
Cumbrous  of  size,  uncouth  to  sight, 
And  useless  in  the  modern  fight ! 
Like  veteran  relic  of  the  wars. 
Known  only  by  neglected  scars. 

V. 

Matilda  soon  to  greet  him  came, 
And  bade  them  light  the  evening  flame  ; 
Said,  all  for  parting  was  prepared. 
And  tarried  but  for  Wilfrid's  guard. 
But  then,  reluctant  to  unfold  ^ 

1  [MS. — "  Confus'd  he  stood,  as  loath  to  say 

What  might  his  sire's  base  mood  display. 
Then  hinted,  lest  some  curious  eye."] 


204  EOKEBr  [CAOTO  T 

His  father's  avarice  of  gold, 
He  hinted,  tliat  lest  jealous  eye 
Should  on  their  precious  burden  pry, 
He  judged  it  best  the  castle  gate 
To  enter  when  the  night  wore  late  ; 
And  therefore  he  had  left  command 
"With  those  he  trusted  of  his  band, 
That  they  should  be  at  Rokeby  met. 
What  time  the  midnight-watch  was  set. 
Now  Redmond  came,  whose  anxious  care 
Till  then  was  busied  to  prepare 
All  needful,  meetly  to  arrange 
The  mansion  for  its  mournful  change. 
With  Wilfrid's  care  and  kindness  pleased, 
His  cold  unready  hand  he  seized, 
And  press'd  it,  till  his  kindly  strain 
The  gentle  youth  return'd  again. 
Seem'd  as  between  them  this  was  said, 
"  Awhile  let  jealousy  be  dead  ; 
And  let  our  contest  be,  whose  care 
Shall  best  assist  this  helpless  fair." 

VI. 

There  was  no  speech  the  truce  to  bind, 
It  was  a  compact  of  the  mind, 
A  generous  thought,  at  once  impressed 
On  either  rival's  generous  breast. 
Matilda  well  the  secret  took, 
.    From  sudden  change  of  mien  and  look ; 
And — for  not  small  had  been  her  fear 


CAATO  V.\  ROKEB^.  205 

Of  jealous  ire  and  danger  near — 
Felt,  even  in  her  dejected  state, 
A  joy  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 
They  closed  beside  the  chimney's  blaze, 
And  talk'd,  and  hoped  for  happier  days, 
And  lent  their  spirits'  rising  glow- 
Awhile  to  gild  impending  woe  ; — 
High  privilege  of  youtliful  time, 
Worth  all  the  pleasures  of  our  prime ! 
The  bickering  fagot  sparkled  bright. 
And  gave  the  scene  of  love  to  sight, 
Bade  Wilfrid's  cheek  more  lively  glow, 
Play'd  on  Matilda's  neck  of  snow, 
Her  nut-brown  cui'ls  and  forehead  high. 
And  laugh'd  in  Redmond's  azure  eye. 
Two  lovers  by  the  maiden  sate. 
Without  a  glance  of  jealous  hate ; 
The  maid  her  lovers  sat  between. 
With  open  brow  and  equal  mien ; — 
It  is  a  sight  but  rarely  spied. 
Thanks  to  man's  wrath  and  woman's  pride. 

VII. 

While  thus  in  peaceful  guise  they  sate, 
A  knock  alarm'd  the  outer  gate. 
And  ere  the  tardy  porter  stirr'd. 
The  tinkling  of  a  harp  was  heard. 
A  manly  voice  of  mellow  swell, 
13ore  burden  to  the  music  well. 


206  KOKEBY.  [canto  V. 

SONG. 

"  Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past, 
Summer  dew  is  falling  fast ; 
I  have  wander 'd  all  the  day, 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray ! 
Gentle  hearts,  of  gentle  kin, 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in  !  '* 

But  the  stern  porter  answer  gave, 

With  "  Get  thee  hence,  thou  strolling  knave  I 

The  king  wants  soldiers ;  war,  I  trow, 

Were  meeter  trade  for  such  as  thou.** 

At  this  unkind  reproof,  again 

Answer'd  the  ready  Mnstrel's  strain. 

SONG   RESUMED. 

"  Bid  not  me,  in  battle-field. 
Buckler  lift,  or  broadsword  wield  I 
All  my  strength  and  all  my  art 
Is  to  touch  the  gentle  heart,^ 
With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 
From  the  peaceful  minstrel-string.'* — 

The  porter,  all  unmoved,  replied, — 
"  Depart  in  peace,  with  Heaven  to  guide  ; 
If  longer  by  the  gate  thou  dwell, 
Ti*ust  me,  thou  shalt  not  part  so  welL** 

'  [MS. — "  0,  bid  uot  me  bear  sword  and  shield. 
Or  struggle  to  the  bloody  field, 
For  gentler  art  this  hand  was  mad?."] 


CAirro  T.]  ROKEBT.  207 

vin. 
With  somewhat  of  appeaUng  look, 
The  harper's  part  young  Wilfrid  took : 
"  These  notes  so  wild  and  ready  thrill, 
They  show  no  vulgar  minstrel's  skill ; 
Hard  were  his  task  to  seek  a  home 
More  distant,  since  the  night  is  come ; 
And  for  his  faith  I  dare  engage — 
Youi  Harpool's  blood  is  sour'd  by  age ; 
His  ^dte,  once  readily  displayed, 
To  greet  the  friend,  the  poor  to  aid, 
Nov  even  to  me,  though  known  of  old, 
Did  but  reluctantly  unfold." — 
"  O  blame  not,  as  poor  Harpool's  crime, 
An  evil  of  this  evil  time. 
He  deems  dependent  on  his  care 
The  safety  of  his  patron's  heir, 
Nor  judges  meet  to  ope  the  tower 
To  guest  unkno\\Ti  at  parting  hour,* 
Urging  his  duty  to  excess 
Of  rough  and  stubborn  faithfuhiess. 
For  this  poor  harper,  1  would  fain 
He  may  relax : — Hark  to  his  strain  I  *' — 

IX. 

SOXG    RESUMED. 

"  I  have  song  of  war  for  knight 
Lay  of  love  for  lady  bright, 

1  [MS.—"  To  vagrants  at  our  parting  hoar.^l 


208  ROKEBT.  [CAMTO  V. 

Fairy  tale  to  lull  the  heir, 
Goblin  grim  the  maids  to  scare. 
Dark  the  night,  and  long  till  day, 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray  ! 

"  Rokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame, 
I  can  count  them  name  by  name  ;  * 
Legends  of  their  line  there  be, 
Known  to  few,  but  kno^vn  to  me ; 
If  you  honour  Rokeby's  kin, 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in  ! 

**  Rokeby's  lords  had  fair  regard 
For  the  harp,  and  for  the  bard ; 
Baron's  race  throve  never  wel), 
Where  the  curse  of  minstrel  feU. 
K  you  love  that  noble  kin, 
Take  the  weary  harper  in  ! " — 

**  Hark  !  Harpool  parleys — there  is  hope,** 
Said  Redmond,  "  that  the  gate  will  ope." — 
— "  For  all  thy  brag  and  boast,  I  trow, 
Nought  know'st  thou  of  the  Felon  Sow,"  ■ 
Quoth  Harpool,  "  nor  how  Greta-side 
She  roam'd,  and  Rokeby  forest  wide ; 
Nor  how  Ralph  Rokeby  gave  the  beast 
To  Richmond's  friars  to  make  a  feast. 


1  [See  Appendix,  Note  L.] 

2  [See  Appendix,  Note  M.] 


CASTO  v.]  ROKfiBT.  209 

Of  Gilbert  Griffinson  the  tale 
Goes,  and  of  gallant  Peter  Dale, 
That  well  could  strike  with  sword  amain. 
And  of  the  valiani  son  of  Spain, 
Friar  Middleton,  and  blithe  Sir  Ralph ; 
There  were  a  jest  to  make  us  laugh  ! 
If  thou  canst  tell  it,  in  yon  shed 
Thou'st  won  thy  supper  and  thy  bed.** 

X. 

Matilda  smiled ;  "  Cold  hope,"  said  she, 
"  From  Harpool's  love  of  minstrelsy  ! 
But,  for  this  harper,  may  we  dare, 
Redmond,  to  mend  his  couch  and  fare  ?  " — 
— "  O,  ask  me  not ! — At  minstrel-string 
My  heart  from  infancy  would  spring ; 
Nor  can  I  hear  its  simplest  strain, 
But  it  brings  Erin's  dream  again, 
When  placed  by  Owen  Lysagh's  knee, 
(The  Filea  of  O'Neale  was  he,^ 
A  bUnd  and  bearded  man,  whose  eld 
Was  sacred  as  a  prophet's  held,) 
I've  seen  a  ring  of  rugged  kerne, 
With  aspects  shaggy,  wild,  and  stem. 
Enchanted  by  the  master's  lay. 
Linger  around  the  hvelong  day, 
Shift  from  <vild  rage  to  wilder  glee. 
To  love,  to  grief,  to  ecstasy ,- 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  N.l 

2  [MS. "  to  sympathy."] 

VOL.  IV.  14 


210  ROKEBT.  [canto  V. 

And  feel  each  varied  change  of  soul 
Obedient  to  the  bard's  control. — 
Ah,  Clandeboy !  thy  friendly  floor 
Slieve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more ;  * 
Nor  Owen's  harp,  beside  the  blaze, 
Tell  maiden's  love,  or  hero's  praise ! 
The  mantUng  brambles  hide  thy  hearth. 
Centre  of  hospitable  mirth  ; 
All  undistinguish'd  in  the  glade, 
My  sires'  glad  home  is  prostrate  laid. 
Their  vassals  wander  wide  and  far, 
Serve  foreign  lords  in  distant  war, 
And  now  the  stranger's  sons  enjoy 
The  lovely  woods  of  Clandeboy  ! " 
He  spoke,  and  proudly  turn'd  aside, 
The  starting  tear  to  dry  and  hide. 

XI. 

Matilda's  dark  and  soften'd  eye 

Was  gUstening  ere  O'Neale's  was  dry. 

Her  hand  upon  his  arm  she  laid, — 

"  It  is  the  will  of  heaven,"  she  said. 

"  And  think'st  thou,  Redmond,  I  can  part 

From  this  loved  home  with  lightsome  heart, 

Leaving  to  wild  neglect  whate'er 

Even  from  my  infancy  was  dear  ? 

For  in  this  calm  domestic  bound 

Were  all  Matilda's  pleasures  found. 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  O.] 


SAHTO  v.]  KOKEBY.  211 

That  hearth,  my  sire  was  wont  to  grace, 

Full  soon  may  be  a  stranger's  place  ;  * 

This  hall,  in  which  a  child  I  play'd, 

Like  thine,  dear  Redmond,  lowly  laid, 

The  bramble  and  the  thorn  may  braid ; 

Or,  pass'd  for  aye  from  me  and  mine. 

It  ne'er  may  shelter  Rokeby's  line. 

Yet  is  this  consolation  given. 

My  Redmond, — 'tis  the  will  of  heaven.** 

Her  word,  her  action,  and  her  phrase. 

Were  kindly  as  in  early  days ; 

For  cold  reserve  had  lost  its  power, 

In  sorrow's  sympathetic  hour. 

Young  Redmond  dared  not  trust  his  voice ; 

But  rather  had  it  been  his  choice 

To  share  that  melancholy  hour, 

Than,  arm'd  with  all  a  chieftain's  power,* 

In  full  possession  to  enjoy 

Slieve-Donard  wide,  and  Clandeboy. 

xn. 
The  blood  left  Wilfrid's  ashen  cheek  ; 
Matilda  sees,  and  hastes  to  speak. — 
**  Happy  in  friendship's  ready  aid, 
Let  all  my  murmurs  here  be  staid ! 
And  Rokeby's  Maiden  will  not  part 
From  Rokeby's  hall  with  moody  heart. 

1  [MS.—"  That  hearth,  my  father's  honour'd  place, 

Full  soon  may  see  a  stranger's  face.' 'J 
a  [MS. "  Tanist's  power."] 


212  ROKEBY.  [CAMrOV 

This  night  at  least,  for  Rokeby*s  fame, 

The  hospitable  hearth  shall  flame, 

And,  ere  its  native  lieir  retu'e, 

Find  for  the  wanderer  rest  and  fire, 

AVhile  this  poor  harper,  by  the  blaze,* 

Recounts  the  tale  of  other  days. 

Bid  Harpool  ope  the  door  with  speed, 

Admit  him,  and  relieve  each  need. — 

Meantime,  kind  TVyclifFe,  wilt  thou  try 

Thy  minstrel  skill  ? — Nay,  no  reply — ^ 

And  look  not  sad  ! — I  guess  thy  thought. 

Thy  verse  with  laurels  would  be  bought ; 

And  poor  Matilda,  landless  now, 

Has  not  a  garland  for  thy  brow. 

True,  I  must  leave  sweet  Rokeby's  gladea, 

Nor  wander  more  in  Greta's  shades ; 

But  sure,  no  rigid  jailer,  thou 

Wilt  a  short  prison- walk  allow, 

Where  summer  flowers  grow  wild  at  will, 

On  Marwood-chase  and  Toller  Hill ;  * 

Then  holly  green  and  lily  gay 

Shall  twine  in  guerdon  of  thy  lay."  * 

1  [MS. — "  Find  for  the  needy  room  and  fire, 

And  this  poor  wanderer,  by  the  blaze."] 

9  [MS. "  what  think'st  thou 

Of  yonder  harp  ? — Nay,  clear  thy  brow."] 
«  Marwood-chase  is  the  old  park  extending  along  the  Dur- 
ham side  of  the  Tees,  attached  to  Barnard  Castle.    Toiler 
Hill  is  an  eminence  on  the  Yorkshire  side  of  the  river,  com' 
mandlng  a  superb  view  of  the  ruins. 
4  [MS. — "  Where  rose  and  lily  I  will  twine 
In  guerdon  of  a  song  cf  thine."] 


CANTO  V.J  ROKEBT.  213 

The  mournful  youth,  a  space  aside. 
To  tune  Matilda's  harp  applied ; 
And  then  a  low  sad  descant  rung, 
As  prelude  to  the  lay  he  sung. 

XIII. 
THE   CYPRESS  TTREATH.l 

0,  Lady,  twine  no  ^Teath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree ! 
Too  lively  glow  the  lilies  light, 
The  varnish'd  holly's  all  too  bright, 
The  May-flower  and  the  eglantine 
May  shade  a  brow  less  sad  than  mine  ; 
But,  Lady,  weave  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree  ! 

Let  dimpled  Mirth  his  temples  twine 
With  tendrils  of  the  laughing  vine  ; 

1  ["  Mr.  Scott  has  imparted  a  delicacy  (we  mean  in  the 
colouring,  for  of  the  design  we  cannot  approve,)  a  sweetness 
and  a  melancholy  sraile  to  this  parting  picture,  that  really 
enchant  us.  Poor  Wilfrid  is  sadly  discomfited  by  the  last 
instance  of  encouragement  to  Redmond;  and  Matilda  en- 
deavours to  cheer  him  by  requesting,  in  the  prettiest,  and 
yet  in  the  most  touching  manner,  '  Kind  WyclifTe,'  to  try  his 
minstrelsy.  We  will  here  just  ask  Mr.  Scott,  whether  this 
would  not  be  actual  infernal  and  intolerable  tortnre  to  a  man 
who  had  any  soul?  Why,  then,  make  his  heroine  even  the 
unwilling  cause  of  such  misery?  Matilda  had  talked  of 
•wining  a  wreath  for  hei  poet  of  holly  green  and  lily  gay, 
and  he  sings,  broken-hearted, '  The  Cypress  Wreath.'  We 
have,  however,  inserted  this  as  one  of  the  best  of  Mr.  Scott's 
songs." — Monthly  Reviexo.^ 


214  ROKEBY.  [CANTO  V 

The  manly  oak,  the  pensive  yew, 
To  patriot  and  to  sage  be  due  ; 
The  myrtle  bough  bids  lovers  live. 
But  that  Matilda  will  not  give  ; 
Then,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree  ! 

Let  merry  England  proudly  rear 

Her  blended  roses,  bought  so  dear ; 

Let  Albin  bind  her  bonnet  blue 

With  heath  and  harebell  dipp'd  in  dew ; 

On  favour'd  Erin's  crest  be  seen 

The  flower  she  loves  of  emerald  green^ 

But,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 

Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Strike  the  wild  harp,  while  maids  prepare 
The  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair  ; 
And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel-leaves, 
With  bloody  hand  the  victor  weaves. 
Let  the  loud  trump  his  triumph  tell ; 
But  when  you  hear  the  passing  bell, 
Then,  Lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me. 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Yes !  twine  for  me  the  cypress  bough ; 
But,  O  Matilda,  twine  not  now  ! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  months  are  past, 
And  I  have  look'd  and  loved  my  last  I 
When  villagers  my  shroud  bestrew 


CANTO  v.]  KOKEBY.  215 

With  pansies,  rosemarj,  and  rue, — 
Then,  Lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  weave  it  of  the  cjpress-tree. 

XIV. 

O'Neale  observed  the  starting  tear, 

And  spoke  with  kind  and  blithesome  cheer— 

"  No,  noble  Wilfrid  !  ere  the  day 

When  mourns  the  land  thj  silent  laj, 

Shall  many  a  wreath  be  freely  wove 

By  hand  of  friendship  and  of  love. 

I  would  not  wish  that  rigid  Fate 

Had  doom'd  thee  to  a  captive's  state. 

Whose  hands  are  bound  by  honour's  law, 

Who  wears  a  sword  he  must  not  draw  ; 

But  were  it  so,  in  minstrel  pride 

The  land  together  would  we  ride, 

On  prancing  steeds,  like  harpers  old, 

Bound  for  the  halls  of  barons  bold,^ 

Each  lover  of  the  lyre  we'd  seek, 

From  Michael's  Mount  to  Skiddaw's  Peak, 

Survey  wild  Albin's  mountain  strand, 

And  roam  green  Erin's  lovely  land, 

1  [MS.—"  I  would  not  wish  thee  { '^  j  degree 

So  lost  to  hope  as  falls  to  me; 

fwert  thou  such,  ) 
ifthouwert,       i  in  minstrel  pride 

The  land  we'd  traverse  side  by  side, 
On  prancing  steeds,  like  minstrels  old. 
Bound  for  ) 

That  sought  the  i  ^^  ^^  ^^"°°'  ^^^'^"^ 


216  KOKEBT.  [canto  V. 

While  thou  the  gentler  souls  should  move, 
With  lay  of  pity  and  of  love, 
And  I,  thy  mate,  in  rougher  strain, 
Would  sing  of  war  and  warriors  slain. 
Old  England's  bards  were  vanquish'd  then, 
And  Scotland's  vaunted  Hawihornden,^ 
And,  silenced  on  lernian  shore, 
M'Curtin's  harp  should  charm  no  more  !  "  * 

1  Drummond  of  Hawthomden  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  rep. 
ntation  as  a  poet  during  the  Civil  Wars.     He  died  in  1649. 

2  "MacCurtin,  hereditary  OUamh  of  North  Munster,  and 
Filea  to  Donough,  Earl  of  Thomond,  and  President  of  Mun- 
Bter.  This  nobleman  was  amongst  those  who  were  prevailed 
upon  to  join  Elizabeth's  forces.  Soon  as  it  was  known  that  he 
bad  basely  abandoned  the  interests  of  his  country,  ihicCur- 
tin  presented  an  adulatory  poem  to  MacCarthy,  chief  of  South 
Munster,  and  of  the  Eugeniau  line,  who,  with  O'Neil,  O'Don- 
nel,  Lacy,  and  others,  were  deeply  engaged  in  protecting 
their  violated  country.  In  this  poem  he  dwells  with  rapture 
on  the  courage  and  patriotism  of  MacCarthy;  but  the  verse 
that  should  (according  to  an  established  law  of  the  order  of 
the  bards)  be  introduced  in  the  praise  of  O'Brien,  he  turns 
into  severe  satire:  '  How  am  I  afflicted  (says  he)  that  the 
descendant  of  the  great  Brion  Boiromh  cannot  furnish  mo 
with  a  theme  worthy  the  honour  and  glory  of  his  exalted 
racel'  Lord  Thomond,  hearing  this,  vowed  vengeance  on 
the  spirited  bard,  who  fled  for  refuge  to  the  county  of  Cork. 
One  day,  observing  the  exasperated  nobleman  and  his  equip- 
age at  a  small  distance,  he  thought  it  was  in  vain  to  fly,  acd 
pretended  to  be  suddenly  seized  with  the  pangs  of  death; 
directing  his  wife  to  lament  over  him,  and  tell  his  lordship, 
that  the  sight  of  him,  by  awakening  the  sense  of  his  ingrati- 
tude, had  so  much  atlected  him  that  he  could  not  support  it; 
and  desired  her  at  the  same  time  to  tell  his  lordship,  that  ho 
entreated,  as  a  dying  request,  his  forgiveness.     Soon  as  Lord 


iAMTOV.]  EOKEBY.  217 

In  lively  mood  he  spoke,  to  wile 
From  Wilfrid's  wo-worn  cheek  a  smile. 


XV. 

"  But,"  said  Matilda,  "  ere  thy  name, 

Good  Redmond,  gain  its  destined  fame. 

Say,  wilt  thou  kindly  deign  to  call 

Thy  brother-minsirel  to  the  hall  ? 

Bid  all  the  household,  too,  attend, 

Each  in  his  rank  a  humble  friend  ; 

I  know  their  faithful  hearts  will  grieve, 

When  their  poor  Mistress  takes  her  leave ; 

So  let  the  horn  and  beaker  flow 

To  mitigate  their  parting  wo." 

The  harper  came  ; — in  youth's  first  prime 

Himself;  in  mode  of  olden  time 

His  garb  was  fashion'd,  to  express 

The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress,^ 


Thomond  an-ived,  the  feigned  tale  was  related  to  him.  That 
nobleman  was  moved  to  compassion,  and  not  only  declared 
that  he  most  heartily  forgave  him,  but  opening  his  purse, 
presented  the  fan-  mourner  with  some  pieces  to  inter  him 
This  instance  of  his  lordship's  pity  and  generosity  gave 
courage  to  the  trembling  bard;  who,  suddenly  springing  up, 
recited  an  extemporaneous  ode  in  praise  of  Donough,  and, 
leentering  into  his  service,  became  once  more  his  favourite." 
— Walkkk's  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards.  Lond.  1786.  4to 
p.  141. 

1  Among  the  entertainments  presented  to  Elizabeth  at 
Kenilworth  Castle,  was  tlie  iutroductiou  of  a  person  designed 
to  represent  a  travelling  minstrel,  who  entertained  her  with  a 
BOlemu  story  out  of  the  Aces  of  King  Arthur.    Of  this  per. 


218  llOKEBY.  [  CANTO  V 

A  seemly  gown  of  Kendal  green, 
'With  gorget  closed  of  silver  sheen ; 
His  harp  in  silken  scarf  was  slung, 
And  by  his  side  an  anlace  hung. 
It  seem'd  some  masquer's  quaint  array. 
For  revel  or  for  hohday. 

XVI. 

He  made  obeisance  with  a  free 

Yet  studied  ai-  of  courtesy. 

Each  look  and  accent,  framed  to  please, 

Seem'd  to  affect  a  plaj^ul  ease  ; 

His  face  was  of  that  doubtful  kind. 

That  wins  the  eye,  but  not  the  mind ; 

Yet  harsh  it  seem'd  to  deem  amiss 

Of  brow  so  young  and  smooth  as  this. 

His  was  the  subtle  look  and  sly, 

That,  spying  all,  seems  nought  to  spy ; 

Round  all  the  group  his  glances  stole, 

Unmark'd  themselves,  to  mark  the  whole. 

Yet  sunk  beneath  Matilda's  look. 

Nor  could  the  eye  of  Redmond  brook.^ 

To  the  suspicious,  or  the  old. 

Subtile  and  dangerous  and  bold 

Had  seem'd  this  self-invited  guest ; 

But  young  our  lovers, — and  the  rest, 

ion's  dress  and  appearance  Mr.  Laneham  has  given  as  a  very 
accurate  account,  transferred  by  Bishop  Percy  to  the  prelim- 
inarj'  Dissertation  on  Minstrels,  prefixed  to  his  Rtliquea  of 
Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  i. 
1  [MS. — "  Kor  could  keen  Redmond's  aspect  brook."] 


fAirrov.]  ROKEBT.  219 

"Wrapt  in  their  sorrow  and  their  fear 
At  parting  of  their  ^listress  dear, 
Tear-blinded  to  the  Castle-hall,* 
Came  as  to  bear  her  funeral  pall. 

XTII. 

All  that  expression  base  was  gone, 

AYhen  waked  the  guest  his  minstrel  tone ; 

It  fled  at  inspiration's  call, 

As  erst  the  demon  fled  from  Saul.^ 

More  noble  glance  he  cast  around. 

More  free-drawn  breath  inspired  the  sound. 

His  pulse  beat  bolder  and  more  high. 

In  all  the  pride  of  minstrelsy ! 

Alas  !  too  soon  that  pride  was  o'er, 

vSunk  with  the  lay  that  bade  it  soar ! 

His  soul  resumed,  with  habit's  chain. 

Its  vices  wild  and  folhes  vain. 

And  gave  the  talent,  with  him  bom, 

To  be  a  common  curse  and  scorn. 

Such  was  the  youth  whom  Rokeby's  Maid, 

With  condescending  kindness,  pray'd 

1  [MS.—"  Came  blindfold  to  the  Castle-hall, 
As  if  to  bear  her  funeral  pall."] 

«  [«  But  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  departed  from  Saul,  and  an 
er*  spirit  from  the  Lord  troubled  him- 

»  And  Saul  said  unto  his  servants,  Provide  me  now  a  man 
(hatcan  play  wel',  and  bring  him  to  me.  And  it  came  to 
j«ass,  when  the  evil  spirit  from  God  was  upon  Saul,  that  David 
V)ok  an  harp,  and  played  with  his  hand:  So  Saul  was  re- 
freshed, and  was  well,  and  the  evil  spirit  departed  from  him." 
—1  Sajiuel,  chap.  xvi.  14,  17,  23.] 


220  KOKEBT.  [canto  Y 

Here  to  renew  the  strains  she  loved, 
At  distance  heard  and  well  approved. 

xvin. 

SONG. 

THE   IIAliP. 

1  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 

My  childhood  scom'd  each  childish  toy ; 

Ketired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy, 

To  musing  prone, 
I  woo'd  my  solitary  joy. 

My  Harp  alone. 

My  youth,  with  bold  Ambition's  mood, 
Despised  the  humble  stream  and  wood, 
Where  my  poor  father's  cottage  stood. 

To  fame  unknown  ; — 
What  should  my  soaring  views  make  good  ? 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Love  came  with  all  his  frantic  fire. 
And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire  :  * 
The  baron's  daughter  heard  my  lyre, 

And  praised  the  tone  ; — 
What  could  presumptuous  hope  inspire  ? 

My  Harp  alone ! 


1  [MS. — "  Love  came,  with  all  his  ardent  fire, 
His  frantic  dream,  his  wild  desire."] 


CAMTOV.]  KOKEBY.  221 

At  manLood's  touch  the  bubble  burst, 
And  manhood's  pride  the  vision  curst, 
And  all  that  had  my  follj  nursed 

Love's  sway  to  own  ; 
Yet  spared  the  spell  that  lull'd  me  first, 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Wo  came  with  war,  and  want  with  wo ; 
And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 
Each  outrage  of  the  rebel  foe  : — ^ 

Can  auglit  atone 
My  fields  laid  waste,  my  cot  laid  low  ? 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Ambition's  dreams  I've  seen  depart, 
Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart, 
Have  felt  of  love  the  venom'd  dart, 

TThen  hope  was  flown ; 
Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heart, — 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Then  over  mountain,  moor,  and  hill. 
My  faithful  Harp,  I'll  bear  thee  still; 
And  when  this  hfe  of  want  and  ill 

Is  wellnigh  gone. 
Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thriU, 

My  Harp  alone ! 


1  [MS  — "  And  doom'd  at  once  to  nndergo, 
Each  varied  outrage  of  the  foe."] 


222  ROKEBT.  ICIOTOV 

xrx. 
"  A  pleasing  lay  !  "  Matilda  said ; 
But  Harpool  shook  his  old  grey  head, 
And  took  his  baton  and  his  torch, 
To  seek  his  guard-room  in  the  porch. 
Edmund  observed — with  sudden  change, 
Among  the  strings  his  fingers  range, 
Until  they  waked  a  bolder  glee 
Of  military  melody ; 
Then  paused  amid  the  martial  sound, 
And  look'd  with  well-feign'd  fear  around ; — ^ 
"  None  to  this  noble  house  belong," 
He  said,  "  that  would  a  Minstrel  wrong. 
Whose  fate  has  been,  through  good  and  ill, 
To  love  his  Royal  Master  still ; 
And,  with  your  honour'd  leave,  would  fain 
Rejoice  you  with  a  loyal  strain." 
Then,  as  assured  by  sign  and  look. 
The  warhke  tone  again  he  took  ; 
And  Harpool  stopp'd,  and  tum'd  to  hear 
A  ditty  of  the  Cavalier. 

XX. 

SOXG. 
THB   CAVALIER. 

While  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  was  misty  and 

gray, 
My  true  love  has  mounted  his  steed  and  away, 

1  [MS.—"  And  looking  timidly  around."] 


rAarrov.]  rokebt.  223 

Over  hiU,  over  valley,  o'er  dale,  and  o'er  down  ; 
Q   shield  the 
the  Crown ! 


Heaven   shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights  for 


He  has  dofif'd  the  silk  doublet  the  breast-plate  to 

bear, 
He  has  placed  the  steel-cap  o'er  his  long  flowing 

hair, 
From  his  belt  to  his  stirrup  his  broadsword  hangs 

down, — 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights  for 

the  Crown! 

For  the  rights  of  fair  England  that  broadsword 

he  draws. 
Her  King  is  his  leader,  her  Church  is  his  cause  ; 
His  watchword  is  honour,  his  pay  is  renown, — 
God  strike  with  the  Gallant  that  strikes  for  the 

Crown! 

They  may  boast  of  their  Fairfax,  their  Waller, 

and  all 
The  roundheaded  rebels  of  "Westminster  Hall ; 
But   tell   these   bold  traitors  of  London's  proud 

town, 
rhat  the  spears  of  the  North  have  encircled  tlie 

Crown.* 

1  [MS. "  of  proud  London  to-wn, 

1  hut  tlie  North  has  brave  nobles  to  fight  for  the 
Crown ."] 


224  ROKEBr.  [CANTO  T 

There's  Derby  and  Cavendish,  dread  of  their  foes ; 
rhere*s  Erin's  high  Ormond,  and  Scotland's  Mont* 

rosel 
Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon,  and  Massey, 

and  Brown, 
With  the  Barons  of  England,  that  fight  for  the 

Crown? 

Now  joy  to  the  crest  of  the  brave  Cavalier ! 
Be  his  banner  unconquer'd,  resistless  his  spear, 
Till  in  peace  and  in  triumph  his  toils  he  may 

drown, 
In  a  pledge  to  fair  England,  her  Church,  and  her 

Crown.^ 

XXI. 

«  Alas !  "  Matilda  said,  "  that  strain, 
Good  harper,  now  is  heard  in  vain  ! 
the  time  has  been,  at  such  a  sound, 
"When  Kokeby's  vassals  gathered  round, 
An  hundred  manly  hearts  would  bound ; 
But  now,  the  stirring  verse  we  hear, 
Like  trump  in  dying  soldier's  ear  !  ^ 

1 1  In  the  MS.  the  last  quatrain  of  this  song  is, 
'  If  they  boast  that  fair  Reading  by  treachery  fell, 
Of  Stratton  and  Lansdoune  the  Cornish  can  tell, 
A.nd  the  North  tell  of  Braham  and  Adderton  Dovra, 
iVhere  God  bless'd  the  brave  gallants  who  fought  f<»  tltf 
Crown."] 
a  [MS. — "  But  now  it  sinkb  upon  the  ear, 
Like  dirge  beside  a  hero's  bior."] 


CANTO  V 1  ROKEBT.  225 

Listless  and  sad  the  notes  we  own, 
The  power  to  answer  them  is  flown. 
Yet  not  without  his  meet  applause 
Be  he  that  sings  the  rightful  cause, 
Even  when  the  crisis  of  its  fate 
To  human  eye  seems  desperate. 
While  Rokebj's  Heir  such  power  retains, 
Let  this  slight  guerdon  pay  thy  pains : — 
And,  lend  thy  harp  ;  I  fain  would  try, 
If  my  poor  skill  can  ought  supply, 
Ere  yet  I  leave  my  fathers'  hall. 
To  mourn  the  cause  in  which  we  falL" 

XXII. 

The  harper,  with  a  downcast  look, 
And  trembling  hand,  her  bounty  took. — 
As  yet,  the  conscious  pride  of  art 
Had  steel'd  him  in  his  treacherous  part ; 
A  powerful  spring,  of  force  unguess'd. 
That  hath  each  gentler  mood  suppressed, 
And  reign'd  in  many  a  human  breast ; 
From  his  that  plans  the  red  campaign. 
To  his  that  wastes  the  woodland  reign. 
The  failing  wing,  the  blood-shot  eye, — ' 
The  sportsman  marks  with  apathy, 
Each  feeling  of  his  victim's  ill 
Drown'd  in  his  own  successful  skill. 


1  [MS. — "Marking,  with  sportive  cnielty, 

The  failing  wing,  the  blood -shot  eye.") 
VOL.    lY  lO 


226  ROKElsr.  [CASTO  V 

The  veteran,  too,  who  now  no  more 
Aspires  to  head  the  battle's  roar,* 
Loves  still  the  triumph  of  his  art, 
And  traces  on  the  pencill'd  chart 
Some  stem  invader's  destined  way, 
Through  blood  and  ruin,  to  his  prey ; 
Patriots  to  death,  and  towns  to  flame, 
He  dooms,  to  raise  another's  name, 
And  shares  the  guilt,  though  not  the  fame. 
What  pays  him  for  Ids  span  of  time 
Spent  in  premeditating  crime  ? 
What  agamst  pity  arms  his  heart  ? — 
It  is  the  conscious  pride  of  art  ^ 

xxni. 

But  principles  in  Edmund's  mind 
Were  baseless,  vague,  and  undefined. 
His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 
On  Passion's  changeful  tide  was  tost ; 
Nor  Vice  nor  Virtue  had  the  power 
Beyond  the  impression  of  the  hour; 
And,  O  !  when  Passion  rules,  how  rare 
The  hours  that  fall  to  Virtue's  share  ! 

1  [MS.—"  The  veteran  chief  whose  broken  age, 

No  more  can  lead  the  battle's  rage."] 

2  ["  Surely  no  poet  has  ever  paid  a  finer  tribute  to  thfc 
power  of  his  art,  than  in  the  foregoing  description  of  its  effecta 
on  the  mind  of  this  unhappy  boy!  and  none  has  ever  more 
;ustly  appreciated  the  worthlessness  of  the  sublimest  genius, 
unrestrained  by  reason,  and  abandoned  by  virtue." — Critica\ 
Review.] 


.CAJrrov]  ROKEBY.  227 

Yet  now  she  roused  her — for  the  pride, 
That  lack  of  sterner  guilt  supplied, 
Could  scai'ce  support  him  when  arose 
The  lay  that  moum'd  Matilda's  woes. 

80NG. 
THE   FAREWELL. 

The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  hear, 

They  mingle  with  the  song : 
Dark  Greta's  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

I  must  not  hear  them  long. 
From  every  loved  and  native  haunt 

The  native  Heir  must  stray, 
And,  hke  a  ghost  whom  sunbeams  daunt, 

Must  part  before  the  day. 

Soon  from  the  halls  my  fathers  rear*d. 

Their  scutcheons  may  descend, 
A  line  so  long  beloved  and  fear'd 

May  soon  obscurely  end. 
No  longer  here  Matilda's  tone 

Shall  bid  those  echoes  swell ; 
Yet  shall  they  hear  her  proudly  own 

The  cause  in  which  we  fell. 

The  Lady  paused,  and  then  again 
Resumed  the  lay  in  loftier  strain.' 

I  [This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS.] 


128  ROKEBT.  [CAMIO  V 

XXIV. 

Let  our  halls  and  towers  decay, 

Be  our  name  and  line  forgot, 
Lands  and  manors  pass  away, — 

We  but  share  our  Monarch's  lot. 
If  no  more  our  annals  show 

Battles  won  and  banners  taken, 
Still  in  death,  defeat,  and  wo, 

Ours  be  loyalty  unshaken ! 

Constant  still  in  danger's  hour. 

Princes  own'd  our  fathers'  aid  ; 
Lands  and  honours,  wealth  and  power,' 

Well  their  loyalty  repaid. 
Perish  wealth,  and  power,  and  pride  I 

Mortal  boons  by  mortals  given  ; 
But  let  Constancy  abide. 

Constancy's  the  gift  of  Heaven. 

XXV. 

While  thus  Matilda's  lay  was  heard, 
A  thousand  thoughts  in  Edmund  stirr'd. 
In  peasant  life  he  might  have  known 
As  fair  a  face,  as  sweet  a  tone ; 
But  village  notes  could  ne'er  supply 
That  rich  and  varied  melody  ; 
And  ne'er  in  cottage-maid  was  seen 
The  easy  dignity  of  mien, 

^  [MS. — "  Knightly  titles,  wealth  and  power."] 


CASTO  V  ]  ROKEBY.  220 

Claiming  respect,  yet  waving  state, 

That  marks  the  daughters  of  the  great. 

Yet  not,  perchance,  had  these  alone 

His  scheme  of  purposed  guilt  o'erthrown ; 

But  while  her  energy  of  mind 

Superior  rose  to  griefs  combined, 

Lending  its  kindling  to  her  eye, 

Giving  her  form  new  majesty, — 

To  Edmund's  thought  Matilda  seem'd 

The  very  object  he  had  dream'd  ; 

When,  long  ere  guilt  his  soul  had  known, 

In  Winston  bowers  he  mused  alone, 

Taxing  his  foncy  to  combine 

The  face,  the  air,  the  voice  divine, 

Of  princess  fair,  by  cruel  fate 

Reft  of  her  honours,  power,  and  state,* 

Till  to  her  rightful  realm  restored 

By  destined  hero's  conquering  sword. 

XXVI. 

«  Such  was  my  vision !  "  Edmund  thought ; 
"  And  have  I,  then,  the  ruin  wrought 
Of  such  a  maid,  that  fancy  ne'er 
In  fiiirest  \'ision  form'd  her  peer  ? 
Was  it  my  hand  that  could  unclose 
The  postern  to  her  ruthless  foes  ? 
Foes,  lost  to  honour,  law,  and  faith, 
Their  kindest  mercy  sudden  death ! 

'  [MS.—"  Of  some  fair  princess  of  romance, 
The  guerdon  of  a  hero's  lance."] 


230  ROKEBY.  [CA24TO  V. 

Have  I  done  this  ?  I !  who  have  swore, 

That  if  the  globe  such  angel  bore, 

I  would  have  traced  its  circle  broad, 

To  kiss  the  ground  on  which  she  trode ! — 

And  now — O !  would  that  earth  would  rive, 

And  close  upon  me  while  alive  ! — 

Is  there  no  hope  ?  Is  all  then  lost  ? — 

Bertram's  already  on  his  post ! 

Even  now,  beside  the  Hall's  arch'd  door, 

I  saw  his  shadow  cross  the  floor ! 

He  was  to  wait  my  signal  strain — 

A  little  respite  thus  we  gain : 

By  what  I  heard  the  menials  say, 

Young  Wycliffe's  troop  are  on  their  way — 

Alarm  precipitates  the  crime ! 

My  harp  must  wear  away  the  time." — 

And  then,  in  accents  faint  and  low, 

He  falter'd  forth  a  tale  of  wo.* 

XXVII. 

BALLAD. 

"  And  whither  would  you  lead  me  then  ?  " 
Quoth  the  Friar  of  orders  gray ; 

And  the  Ruffians  twain  replied  again, 
*'  By  a  dying  woman  to  pray." — 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  a  lovely  sight, 
A  sight  bodes  little  harm, 

1  [The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet.] 


c.vxTO  v.]  KOKEBT.  231 

A  lady  as  a  lily  bright, 

With  an  infant  on  her  arm." — 

"  Then  do  thine  office,  Friar  gray, 

And  see  thou  shrive  her  free  !  * 
Else  shall  the  sprite,  that  parts  to-ni^t, 

Fling  all  its  guilt  on  thee. 

"  Let  mass  be  said,  and  trentrals  read. 

When  thou'rt  to  convent  gone. 
And  bid  the  bell  of  St.  Benedict 
Toll  out  its  deepest  tone.** 

The  shrift  is  done,  the  Friar  is  gone, 

Blindfolded  as  he  came — 
Next  morning  all,  in  Littlecote  Hall 

Were  weeping  for  their  dame. 

Wild  Darrell  is  an  aher'd  man. 

The  village  crones  can  tell ; 
He  looks  pale  as  clay,  and  strives  to  pray. 

If  he  hears  the  convent  bell. 

K  prince  or  peer  cross  Darrell's  way, 

He'll  beard  him  in  his  pride — 
If  he  meet  a  Friar  of  orders  gray, 

He  droops  and  turns  aside.^ 

»  [MS  — "  And  see  thv  shrift  be  true, 

Else  shall  the  soul,  that  parts  to-day. 
Fling  all  its  guilt  on  vou."] 
«  See  Appendix,  Note  P,— [to  which  the  author  in  hia  in 
»«ileaved  copy  has  made  considerable  additions. — Ed.] 


232  ROKEBY.  Lc-^TO  T. 

xxvni. 
"  Harper !  raetliinks  thy  magic  lays," 
Matilda  said,  "  can  goblins  raise  ! 
"Wellnigh  my  fancy  can  discern, 
Near  the  dark  porch,  a  visage  stem  ; 
E'en  now,  in  yonder  shadowy  nook, 
I  see  it ! — Redmond,  Wilfrid,  look  ! — 
A  human  form  distinct  and  clear — 
God,  for  thy  mercy  ! — it  draws  near !  ** 
She  saw  too  true.     Stride  after  stride, 
The  centre  of  that  chamber  wide 
Fierce  Bertram  gain'd  ;  then  made  a  stand. 
And,  proudly  waving  with  his  hand, 
Thunder'd — "  Be  still,  upon  your  lives ! — 
He  bleeds  who  speaks,  he  dies  who  strives." 
Behind  their  chief,  the  robber  crew 
Forth  from  the  darken'd  portal  drew. 
In  silence — save  that  echo  dread 
Return'd  their  heavy  measured  tread.* 
The  lamp's  uncertain  lustre  gave 
Their  arms  to  gleam,  their  plumes  to  wave ; 
File  after  file  in  order  pass, 
Like  forms  on  Banquo's  mystic  glass. 
Then,  halting  at  their  leader's  sign. 
At  once  they  form'd  and  curved  their  line, 
Hemming  within  its  crescent  drear 
Their  victims,  like  a  herd  of  deer. 

1  [MS. — "  Behind  him  came  his  savage  crew, 
File  after  file  in  order  due ; 
Silent  from  that  dark  portal  pass, 
Like  forms  on  Banquo's  magic  glass."] 


CA5TO  v.] 


ROKEBT.  233 


Another  sign,  and  to  the  aim 
Levell'd  at  once  their  muskets  came, 
As  waiting  but  their  chieftam's  word, 
To  make  their  fatal  volley  heard. 

XXIX. 

Back  in  a  heap  the  menials  drew ; 

Yet,  even  in  mortal  terror,  true, 

Theu-  pale  and  startled  group  oi«pose 

Between  Matilda  and  the  foes. 

«  O,  haste  thee,  Wilfrid !  "  Redmond  cried; 

«  Undo  that  wicket  by  thy  side  1 

Bear  hence  Matilda  i— gain  the  wood— 

The  pass  may  be  awhile  made  good — 

Thy  band,  ere  this,  must  sure  be  nigh— 

O  speak  not — dally  not — but  fly  !  " 

While  yet  the  crowd  their  motions  hide, 

Through  the  low  wicket  door  they  gUde. 

Through  vaulted  passages  they  wmd, 

In  Gothic  intricacy  twined  ; 

Wilfrid  half  led,  and  half  he  bore, 

Matilda  to  the  postern-door, 

And  safe  beneath  the  forest  tree, 

The  Lady  stands  at  Uberty. 

The  moonbeams,  the  fresh  gale's  caress, 

Kenew'd  suspended  consciousness ; — 

"Where's  Redmond?"  eagerly  she  cries: 

«  Thou  answer's!  not — he  dies !  he  dies  I 

I  [MS.—"  Conduct  Matilda."  &c.] 


234  ROKEBT.  [CAHTO  ▼ 

And  tliou  hast  left  him,  all  bereft 
Of  mortal  aid — with  murderers  left ! 
I  know  it  well — he  would  not  yield 
His  sword  to  man — his  doom  is  seal'd  ! 
For  my  scorn'd  life,  which  thou  hast  bought 
At  price  of  his,  I  thank  thee  not." 


The  unjust*  reproach,  the  angry  look, 

The  heart  of  Wilfrid  could  not  brook. 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  my  band  so  near. 

In  safety  thou  mayst  rest  thee  here. 

For  Redmond's  death  thou  shalt  not  mourn, 

If  mine  can  buy  his  safe  return." 

He  turn'd  away — his  heart  throbb'd  high, 

The  tear  was  bursting  from  his  eye ; 

The  sense  of  her  injustice  pressed 

Upon  the  Maid's  distracted  breast, — 

«  Stay,  Wilfrid,  stay !  all  aid  is  vain  I " 

He  heard,  but  turn'd  him  not  again ; 

He  reaches  now  the  postern-door, 

Now  enters — and  is  seen  no  more. 

XXXI. 

With  all  the  agony  that  e'er 
,Was  gender'd  'twixt  suspense  and  fear, 
She  watch'd  the  line  of  windows  tall,^ 
Whose  Gothic  lattice  lights  the  Hall, 

1  [MS.—"  Matilda,  shrouded  by  the  trees, 
The  line  of  lofty  windows  sees."] 


lAOTO  v.]  KOKEBT.  235 

Distingaish'd  by  the  palj  red 

The  lamps  in  dim  reflection  shed,* 

While  all  beside  in  wan  moonlight 

Each  grated  casement  glimmer'd  white. 

No  sight  of  harm,  no  sound  of  ill. 

It  is  a  deep  and  midnight  still. 

Who  look'd  upon  the  scene,  had  guess'd 

All  in  the  Castle  were  at  rest : 

When  sudden  on  the  windows  shone 

A  lightning  flash,  just  seen  and  gone  !  * 

A  shot  is  heard — Again  the  flame 

Flash'd  thick  and  fast — a  volley  came  I 

Then  echo'd  wildly,  from  within. 

Of  shout  and  scream  the  mingled  din, 

And  weapon-clash  and  maddening  cry. 

Of  those  who  kill,  and  those  who  die  ! — 

As  fill'd  the  Hall  with  sulphurous  smoke, 

More  red,  more  dark,  the  death-flash  broke  ; 

And  forms  were  on  the  lattice  cast, 

That  struck,  or  struggled,  as  they  past. 

xxxn. 
What  sounds  upon  the  midnight  wind 
Approach  so  rapidly  behind  ? 


1  [MS. — ^  The  dying  lamps  reflection  shed, 

While  all  around  the  moon's  wan  light, 
On  tower  and  casement  glimmer'd  white; 
No  sights  bode  harm,  no  sounds  bode  ill^ 
It  is  as  calm  as  midnight  still,"] 

«  [MS.—**  A  brief  short  flash,"  &c.] 


236  ROKEBY.  [CA.NTOV 

It  is,  it  is,  the  tramp  of  steeds, 
Matilda  hears  the  sound,  she  speeds, 
Seizes  upon  the  leader's  rein — 
"  O,  haste  to  aid,  ere  aid  be  vain  ! 
Fly  to  the  postern — gain  the  Hall ! " 
From  saddle  spring  the  troopers  all ;  * 
Their  gallant  steeds,  at  liberty. 
Run  wild  along  the  moonlight  lea. 
But,  ere  they  burst  upon  the  scene, 
Full  stubborn  had  the  conflict  been. 
When  Bertram  mark'd  Matilda's  flight, 
It  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight ; 
And  Rokeby's  veterans,  seam'd  with  scars 
Of  Scotland's  and  of  Erin's  wars. 
Their  momentary  panic  o'er. 
Stood  to  the  arms  which  then  they  bore  ; 
(For  they  were  weapon'd,  and  prepared  * 
Their  Mistress  on  her  way  to  guard.) 
Then  cheer'd  them  to  the  fight  O'Neale, 
Then  peal'd  the  shot,  and  clash'd  the  steel ; 
The  war-smoke  soon  with  sable  breath 
Darken'd  the  scene  of  blood  and  death. 
While  on  the  few  defenders  close 
The  Bandits,  with  redoubled  blows, 
And,  twice  driven  back,  yet  fierce  and  fell 
Renew  the  charge  with  frantic  yell.^ 

1  [MS.—"  '  Haste  to  postern— gain  the  Hall ! ' 

Sprung  from  their  steeds  the  troopers  all.*'] 

*  [MS. — *'  For  as  it  hap'd  they  were  prepared."] 

*  [In  place  of  this  couplet,  the  MS.  reads, — 

"  And  as  the  hall  the  troopers  gain, 
Their  aid  had  welLoigh  been  in  vain."] 


CAKIO  V.l  KOKEBT.  237 

xxxin. 
"Wilfri'I  H«^«4 1'^.n — but  o'er  him  stood 
Young  Redmond,  soiled  with  smoke  and  bloody 
Cheering  his  mates  with  heart  and  hand 
Still  to  make  good  their  desperate  stand. 
"  Up,  comrades,  up  !  In  Rokebj  halls 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courai^e  falls. 
What  I  faint  ye  for  their  savage  err, 
Or  do  the  smoke-wreaths  daunt  your  eye  ? 
These  rafters  have  return'd  a  shout 
As  loud  at  Rokeby's  wassail  rout, 
As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 
At  llaUow-tide  or  Christmas-even.^ 
Stand  to  it  yet !  renew  the  fight, 
For  Rokeby's  and  Matilda's  right ! 
These  slaves  !  they  dare  not,  hand  to  hand- 
Bide  buffet  from  a  tnie  man's  brand." 
Impetuous,  active,  fierce,  and  young, 
Upon  the  advancing  foes  he  sprung. 
"Wo  to  the  wretch  at  whom  is  bent 
His  brandish'd  falchion's  sheer  descent  1 
Backward  they  scatter'd  as  he  came. 
Like  wolves  before  the  levin  flame,^ 
When,  mid  their  howling  conclave  driven. 
Hath  glanced  the  thunderbolt  of  heaven. 
Bertram  rush'd  on — bui  Harpool  clasp*d  ' 
1  [See  Appendix,  Note  Q.] 

*  [MS. — "  Like  wolves  at  lightning's  midnight  fl«im«."' 

•  [MS. — "  Bertram  had  faced  him;  '^h.''e  L<}  gaspd 

In  death,  his  knees  oM  Harpx^l  c'asp'd, 
His  dying  corpse  before  him  flung.  '1 


238  ROKEBY.  [CAKTO  T 

His  knees,  although  in  death  he  gasped, 
His  falling  corpse  before  him  flung, 
And  round  the  trammell'd  ruffian  clung. 
Just  then,  the  soldiers  fill'd  the  dome, 
And,  shouting,  charged  the  felons  home 
So  fiercely,  that,  in  panic  dread. 
They  broke,  they  yielded,  fell,  or  fled,* 
Bertram's  stern  voice  they  heed  no  more, 
Though  heard  above  the  battle's  roai* ; 
"While  trampling  down  the  dying  man. 
He  strove,  with  volley'd  threat  and  ban, 
In  scorn  of  odds,  in  fate's  despite, 
To  rally  up  the  desperate  fight.* 

XXXIV. 

Soon  murkier  clouds  the  Hall  enfold. 
Than  e'er  from  battle-thunders  roll'd ; 
So  dense,  the  combatants  scarce  know 
To  aim  or  to  avoid  the  blow. 
Smothering  and  blindfold  grows  the  fighfr^ 
But  soon  shall  dawn  a  dismal  light ! 
Mid  cries,  and  clashing  arms,  there  came 
The  hollow  sound  of  rushing  flame ; 
New  horrors  on  the  tumult  dire 
Arise — ^the  Castle  is  on  fire  !  " 

1  [MS. — "  So  fiercely  charged  them,  that  they  bled, 

Disbanded,  yielded,  fell,  or  fled."] 
*  [MS. — '*  To  rally  them  against  their  fate, 

And  fought  himself  as  desperate."] 
■  [MS. — "  Chance-kindled  mid  the  tumult  dire, 

The  western  tower  is  all  on  fire. 

Matilda  saw,"  &c.] 


rASTO  v.]  ROKEBT.  239 

Doubtful,  if  chance  had  cast  the  brand. 
Or  frantic  Bertram's  desperate  hand. 
Matilda  saw — for  frequent  broke 
From  the  dim  casements  gusts  of  smoke. 
Yon  tower,  which  late  so  clear  defined 
On  the  fair  hemisphere  reclined. 
That,  pencill'd  on  its  azure  pure, 
The  eje  could  count  each  embrazure, 
Now,  swath'd  within  the  sweeping  cloud. 
Seems  giant-spectre  in  his  shroud ; 
Till,  from  each  loop-hole  flashing  light, 
A  spout  of  fire  shines  ruddy  bright, 
And,  gathering  to  united  glare. 
Streams  high  into  the  midnight  air ; 
A  dismal  beacon,  far  and  wide 
That  waken'd  Greta's  slumbering  side.* 
Soon  all  beneath,  through  gallery  long, 
And  pendant  arch,  the  fire  fiash'd  strong, 
Snatching  whatever  could  maintain, 
Raise,  or  extend,  its  furious  reign ; 
Startling,  with  closer  cause  of  dread, 
The  females  who  the  conflict  fled. 
And  now  rush*d  forth  upon  the  plain, 
Filling  the  air  with  clamours  vain. 

XXXY 

But  ceased  not  yet,  the  Hall  within, 
The  shriek,  the  shout,  the  carnage-din, 

1  [ITie  MS.  has  not  this  couplet.] 


240  ROKEBY.  [CAJSTO  T. 

Till  bursting  lattices  give  proofs 

The  flames  have  caught  the  rafter'd  roof. 

What !  wait  they  till  its  beams  amain 

Crash  on  the  slayers  and  the  slain  ? 

The  alarm  is  caught — the  drawbridge  falls, 

The  warriors  hurry  from  the  walls, 

But,  by  the  conflagration's  hght, 

Upon  the  lawn  renew  the  fight. 

Each  straggling  felon  down  was  heVd, 

Not  one  could  gain  the  sheltering  wood ; 

But  forth  the  affi'ighted  harper  sprung, 

And  to  Matilda's  robe  he  clung. 

Her  shriek,  entreaty,  and  command, 

Stopp'd  the  pursuer's  lifted  hand.^ 

Denzil  and  he  alive  were  ta'en ; 

The  rest,  save  Bertram,  all  are  slain. 

XXXVI. 

And  where  is  Bertram  ? — soaring  high,* 
The  general  flame  ascends  the  sky  ; 
In  gather'd  group  the  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  broad  and  roaring  blaze. 
When,  like  infernal  demon,  sent 
Red  from  his  penal  element, 

1  [MS. — "  The  glowing  lattices  give  proof."] 

*  [MS. — '*  Her  shrieks,  entreaties,  and  commands, 

Avail'd  to  stop  pursuing  brands."] 

•  [MS.—*'  Where's  Bertram  now  ?    In  fury  driven, 

The  general  flame  ascends  to  heaven; 
The  gather'd  groups  of  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  red  and  roaring  blaze." 


CANTO  v.]  EOKEBT.  241 

To  plague  and  to  pollute  the  air, — 
His  face  all  gore,  on  fire  his  hair, 
Forth  from  the  central  mass  of  smoke 
The  giant  form  of  Bertram  broke  1 
His  brandish'd  sword  on  high  he  rears, 
Theu  plunged  among  opposing  spears ; 
Round  his  left  arm  his  mantle  truss'd, 
Received  and  foil'd  three  lances*  thrust ;  * 
Nor  these  his  headlong  course  withstood,^ 
Like  reeds  he  snapp'd  the  tough  ash-wood. 
In  vain  his  foes  around  him  clung ; 
With  matchless  force  aside  he  flung 
Their  boldest, — as  the  bull,  at  bay, 
Tosses  the  ban-dogs  from  his  way, 
Through  forty  foes  his  path  he  made, 
And  safely  gain'd  the  forest  glade. 

XXXV  ri. 
Scarce  was  this  final  conflict  o'er, 
"When  from  the  postern  Redmond  bore 
Wilfi-id,  who,  as  of  life  bereft, 
Had  m  the  fatal  Hall  been  left," 
Deserted  there  by  all  his  train  ; 
But  Redmond  saw,  and  tum'd  again.— 
Beneath  an  oak  he  laid  him  down, 
That  in  the  blaze  gleam'd  ruddy  brown, 

1  [The  MS.  wants  this  couplet] 

2  [MS. — "  In  vain  the  opposing  spears  withstood.'*] 
8  [MS.—"  Had  in  the  smouldering  hall  been  left.'*] 

VOL.  IV.  16 


242  ROKEBY.  [CAOTO? 

And  then  his  mantle's  clasp  undid ; 
Matilda  held  his  drooping  head, 
Till,  given  to  breathe  the  freer  air, 
Returning  life  repaid  their  care. 
He  gazed  on  them  with  heavy  sigh, — 
"  I  could  have  wish'd  even  thus  to  die !  " 
No  more  he  said — for  now  with  speed 
Each  trooper  had  regain'd  his  steed ; 
The  ready  palfreys  stood  array'd. 
For  Redmond  and  for  Rokeby's  Maid ; 
Two  Wilfrid  on  his  horse  sustain, 
One  leads  his  charger  by  the  rein. 
But  oft  Matilda  look'd  behind, 
As  up  the  Vale  of  Tees  they  wind, 
Where  far  the  mansion  of  her  sires 
Beacon'd  the  dale  with  midnight  fires. 
In  gloomy  arch  above  them  spread. 
The  clouded  heaven  lower'd  bloody  red ; 
Beneath,  in  sombre  light,  the  flood 
Appear'd  to  roU  in  waves  of  blood. 
Then,  one  by  one,  was  heard  to  fall 
The  tower,  the  donjon-keep,  the  hall. 
Each  rushing  down  with  thunder  sound, 
A  space  the  conflagration  drown'd ; 
Till,  gathering  strength,  again  it  rose, 
Announced  its  triumph  in  its  close, 
Shook  wide  its  hght  the  landscape  o'er, 
Then  sunk — and  Rokeby  was  no  more !  * 

*  ["  The  castle  on  fire  has  an  awful  sublimity,  which  would 


CAJTTO  V.J  KOKEBT.  243 

throw  at  a  humble  distance  the  boldest  reaches  of  the  picto- 
rial art We  refer  our  readers  to  Virgil's  ships,  or  to 

his  Troy  in  flames:  and  though  the  Virgilian  pictures  be 
drawn  on  a  very  extensive  canvas,  with  confidence  we  as- 
lert,  that  the  castle  on  fire  is  much  more  magnificent.  It  ia, 
In  truth,  incomparably  grand." — Briiish  Critic.} 


ROKEBY 


CANTO   SIXTH. 


ROKEBY 


CANTO    SIXTH. 


I. 

The  summer  sun,  wliose  early  power 
Was  wont  to  gild  Matilda's  bower, 
And  rouse  her  with  his  matin  ray  * 
Her  duteous  orisons  to  pay, 
That  morning  sun  has  tliree  times  seen 
The  flowers  unfold  on  Rokeby  green, 
But  sees  no  more  the  slumbers  fly 
From  fair  Matilda's  hazel  eye  ; 
That  morning  sun  has  three  times  broke 
On  Rokeby's  glades  of  elm  and  oak, 
But,  rising  from  their  sylvan  screen, 
Marks  no  grey  turrets'  glance  between. 
A  shapeless  mass  lie  keep  and  tower. 
That,  hissing  to  the  morning  shower, 
Can  but  with  smouldering  vapour  pay 
The  early  smile  of  summer  day. 

1  [MS. "  glancing  ray."] 


248  ROKEBY.  [CAMTO  VI. 

The  peasant,  to  his  labour  bound, 
Pauses  to  view  the  blacken'd  mound, 
Striving,  amid  the  ruin'd  space, 
Each  well-re  member'd  spot  to  trace. 
That  length  of  frail  and  fire-scorch'd  wall 
Once  screen'd  the  hospitable  hall ; 
When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole, 
'Twas  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole  ; 
And  where  yon  tottering  columns  nod, 
The  chapel  sent  the  hymn  to  God. — 
So  flits  the  world's  uncertain  span  ! 
Nor  zeal  for  God,  nor  love  for  man. 
Gives  mortal  monuments  a  date 
Beyond  the  power  of  Time  and  Fate. 
The  towers  must  share  the  builder's  doom ; 
Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomb : 
But  better  boon  benignant  Heaven 
To  Faith  and  Charity  has  given. 
And  bids  the  Christian  hope  subhme 
Transcend  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time.* 

n. 

Now  the  third  night  of  summer  came, 
Since  that  which  witness'd  Rokeby's  flame. 

1  [MS. — "  And  bids  our  hopes  ascend  sublime 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time." — 

"  Faith,  prevailing  o'er  his  sullen  doom. 
As  bursts  the  morn  on  night's  unfathora'd  gloom. 
Lured  his  dim  eye  to  deathless  hopes  sublime, 
Beyond  the  realms  of  nature  and  of  time." 

Campbell.  1 


CANTO  VI-l  EOKEBT.  249 

On  Brignall  cliffs  and  Scargill  brake 

The  owlet's  homilies  awake, 

The  bittern  scream'd  from  rush  and  flag, 

The  raven  sluraber'd  on  his  crag, 

Forth  from  his  den  the  otter  drew, — 

Grayling  and  trout  their  tyrant  knew, 

As  between  reed  and  sedge  he  peers, 

With  fierce  round  snout  and  sharpen'd  ears,* 

Or,  prowling  by  the  moonbeam  cool, 

Watches  the  stream  or  swims  the  pool  ;— 

Perch'd  on  his  wonted  eyrie  high, 

Sleep  seal'd  the  tercelet's  wearied  eye. 

That  all  the  day  had  watch'd  so  well 

The  cushat  dart  across  the  dell. 

In  dubious  beam  reflected  shone 

That  lofty  cliff  of  pale  grey  stone, 

Beside  whose  base  the  secret  cave 

To  rapine  late  a  refuge  gave. 

The  crag's  wild  crest  of  copse  and  yew 

On  Greta's  breast  dark  shadows  threw ; 

Shadows  that  met  or  shunn'd  the  sight. 

With  every  change  of  fitful  light ; 

As  hope  and  fear  alternate  chase 

Our  course  through  life's  uncertain  race. 

ni. 
Gliding  by  crag  and  copsewood  green, 
{   '•?litary  form  was  seen 

•'r>w»  MF   '  x"  io«^  'his  couplet  I 


250  BOKEBT.  [CAHTO  V7 

To  trace  with  stealthy  pace  the  wold, 
Like  fox  that  seeks  the  midnight  fold, 
And  pauses  oft,  and  cowers  dismay'd, 
At  every  breath  that  stirs  the  shade. 
He  passes  now  the  ivy  bush, — 
The  owl  has  seen  him,  and  is  hush ; 
He  passes  now  the  dodder'd  oak, — 
Ye  heard  the  startled  raven  croak ; 
Lower  and  lower  he  descends. 
Rustle  the  leaves,  the  brushwood  bends ; 
The  otter  hears  him  tread  the  shore, 
And  dives,  and  is  beheld  no  more  ; 
And  by  the  chff  of  pale  grey  stone 
The  midnight  wanderer  stands  alone. 
Methinks,  that  by  the  moon  we  trace 
A  well-remember'd  form  and  face  ! 
That  stripling  shape,  that  cheek  so  pale, 
Combine  to  tell  a  rueful  tale, 
Of  powers  misused,  of  passion's  force, 
Of  guilt,  of  grief,  and  of  remorse ! 
'Tis  Edmund's  eye,  at  every  sound 
That  flings  that  guilty  glance  around  ; 
Tis  Edmund's  trembling  haste  divides 
The  brushwood  that  the  cavern  hides  ; 
And,  when  its  narrow  porch  lies  bare,* 
Tis  Edmund's  form  that  enters  there. 

IV. 

His  flint  and  steel  have  sparkled  bright, 
A  lamp  hath  lent  the  cavern  light. 

1  [MS. "  sally-port  lies  bare."] 


CASTO  VI.]  EOKEBT.  251 

Fearful  and  quick  his  eye  surveys 
Each  angle  of  the  gloomy  maze. 
Since  last  he  left  that  stern  abode, 
It  secm'd  as  none  its  floor  had  trod 
Untouch'd  appeared  the  various  spoil. 
The  purchase  of  his  comrades'  toil ; 
Masks  and  disguises  grimed  with  mud, 
Anns  broken  and  defiled  with  blood, 
And  all  the  nameless  tools  that  aid 
Kight-felons  in  their  lawless  trade, 
Upon  the  gloomy  walls  were  hung, 
Or  lay  in  nooks  obscurely  flung.^ 
Still  on  the  sordid  board  appear 
The  relics  of  the  noontide  cheer : 
Flagons  and  emptied  flasks  were  there,^ 
And  bench  o'erthrown,  and  shatter'd  chair ; 
And  all  around  the  semblance  show'd, 
As  when  the  final  revel  glow'd, 
When  the  red  sun  was  setting  fast. 
And  parting  pledge  Guy  Denzil  past. 
"  To  Rokeby  treasure-vaults  !  "  they  quaff'd, 
And  shouted  loud  and  w  ildly  laugh'd, 
Pour'd  maddening  from  the  rocky  door, 
And  parted — to  return  no  more  ! 

1  [MS. — "  Or  on  the  floors  disordered  flung."j 
'  [MS. — "  Seats  overthrown  and  flagons  drain'd 
Still  on  the  cavern  floor  remain' d, 
And  all  the  cave  that  semblance  bore, 
It  show'd  when  late  the  revel  wore."] 


252  ROKKBY.  f  CAKTO  \  I 

They  found  in  Rokeby  vaults  tlieir  doom, — 
A  bloodj  death,  a  burning  tomb  ! 


There  his  own  peasant  dress  he  spies, 

Doff 'd  to  assume  that  quaint  disguise ; 

And  shuddering  thought  upon  his  glee, 

When  prank'd  in  garb  of  minstrelsy. 

"  O,  be  the  fatal  art  accurst," 

He  cried,  "  that  moved  my  folly  first ; 

Till,  bribed  by  bandits'  base  applause, 

I  burst  through  God's  and  Nature's  laws ! 

Three  summer  days  are  scantly  past 

Since  I  have  trod  this  cavern  last, 

A  thoughtless  wretch,  and  prompt  to  err — 

But,  0,  as  yet  no  murderer ! 

Even  now  I  list  my  comrades'  cheer, 

That  general  laugh  is  in  mine  ear, 

Which  raised  my  pulse  and  steel'd  my  heart, 

As  I  rehearsed  my  treacherous  part — 

And  would  that  all  since  then  could  seem 

The  phantom  of  a  fever's  dream ! 

But  fatal  Memory  notes  too  well 

The  horrors  of  the  dying  yell, 

From  my  despairing  mates  that  broke, 

When  flash'd  the  fire  and  roll'd  the  smoke ; 

When  the  avengers  shouting  came. 

And  henmi'd  us  'twixt  the  sword  and  flame  t 

My  frantic  flight, — the  lifted  brand, — 

That  angel's  interposing  hand ! 


CAHTO  VI.]  ROKEBT.  255 

If,  for  my  life  from  slaughter  fi-eed, 
I  yet  could  pay  some  grateful  meed ! 
Perchance  this  object  of  my  quest 
May  aid  " — he  turn'd,  nor  spoke  the  rest. 

VI. 

Due  northward  from  the  rugged  hearth. 

With  paces  five  he  metes  the  earth, 

Then  toil'd  with  mattock  to  explore 

The  entrails  of  the  cavern  floor, 

Nor  paused  till,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 

His  search  a  small  steel  casket  found. 

Just  as  he  stoop'd  to  loose  its  hasp. 

His  shoulder  felt  a  giant  grasp  ; 

He  started,  and  look'd  up  aghast, 

Then  shriek'd  I — 'Twas  Bertram  held  him  fast 

«  Feai-  not !  "  he  said  ;  but  who  could  hear 

That  deep  stem  voice,  and  cease  to  fear  ? 

«  Fear  not  1 — By  heaven,  he  shakes  as  much 

As  partridge  in  the  falcon's  clutch  :** — 

He  raised  him,  and  unloosed  his  hold, 

While  from  the  opening  casket  roll'd 

A  chain  and  reliquaire  of  gold.^ 

Bertram  beheld  it  with  surprise. 

Gazed  on  its  fashion  and  device, 

Then,  cheering  Edmund  as  he  could, 

Somewhat  he  smooth'd  his  rugged  mood : 

For  still  the  youth's  half-lifted  eye 

Quiver'd  with  terror's  agony, 

1  [MS.^ "  carcanet  of  gold."] 


254  ROKEBT.  [canto  VI 

And  sidelong  gl.inced,  as  to  explore, 

In  meditated  flight,  the  door. 

"  Sit,"  Bertram  said,  "  from  danger  free : 

Thou  canst  not,  and  thou  shalt  not,  flee. 

Chance  brings  me  hither ;  hill  and  plain 

I've  sought  for  refuge-place  in  vain.^ 

And  tell  me  now,  thou  aguish  boy, 

What  makest  thou  here  ?  what  means  this  toy  ? 

Denzil  and  thou,  I  mark'd,  were  ta'en ; 

"What  lucky  chance  unbound  your  chain  ? 

I  deera'd,  long  since  on  Baliol's  tower, 

Your  heads  were  warp'd  with  sun  and  shower.* 

Tell  me  the  whole — and,  mark !  nought  e'er 

Chafes  me  like  falsehood,  or  like  fear." 

Gathering  his  courage  to  his  aid, 

But  trembhng  still,  the  youth  obey'd. 

vn. 
"  Denzil  and  I  two  nights  pass'd  o'er 
In  fetters  on  the  dungeon  floor. 
A  guest  the  third  sad  morrow  brought ; 
Our  hold  dark  Oswald  Wycliffe  sought,^ 
And  eyed  my  comrade  long  askance. 
With  fix'd  and  penetrating  glance. 


1  [The  MS.  adds: 

"  No  surer  shelter  from  the  foe 
Than  -what  this  cavern  can  bestow."] 

i  [MS. "  perched  in  sun  and  shower."] 

8  [MS.—"  With  the  third  mom  that  baron  old, 

Dark  Oswald  Wycliffe,  sought  the  hold."] 


HiLSTO  VI.]  KOKEBT.  255 

*  Guy  Denzil  art  thou  call'd  ? ' — '  The  same.'— ^ 

*  At  Court  who  served  wild  Buckinghame  ; 
Thence  banish'd,  won  a  keeper's  place, 

So  Yilliers  will'd,  in  Marwood-chase ; 
That  lost — I  need  not  tell  thee  why — 
Thou  madest  thy  wit  thy  wants  supply, 
Then  fought  for  Rokeby : — Have  I  guess'd 
My  prisoner  right  ? ' — '  At  thy  behest,' — ^ 
He  paused  awhile,  and  then  went  on 
With  low  and  confidential  tone  ; — 
Me,  as  I  judge,  not  then  he  saw. 
Close  nestled  in  my  couch  of  straw. — 

*  List  to  me,  Guy.     Thou  know'st  the  great 
Have  frequent  need  of  what  they  hate  ; 
Hence,  in  their  favour  oft  we  see 
Unscrupled,  useful  men  like  thee. 

Were  I  disposed  to  bid  thee  live, 

What  pledge  of  faith  hast  thou  to  give  ? ' 

Vlll. 

**  The  ready  Fiend,  who  never  yet 
Hath  failed  to  sharpen  Denzil's  wit. 
Prompted  his  lie — '  His  only  child 
Should  rest  his  pledge.' — The  Baron  smiled, 
And  tum'd  to  me — '  Thou  art  his  son  ?  ' 
I  bowed — our  fetters  were  undone. 
And  we  were  led  to  hear  apart 
A  dreadful  lesson  of  his  art. 

1  [MS. — "  '  And  last  didst  ride  in  Rokeby's  band. 

Art  thou  the  man  V  ' — '  At  thj  command.*  "] 


256  ROKEBY.  [canto  VI 

Wilfrid,  he  said,  his  heir  and  son, 
Had  fair  Matilda's  favour  won  ; 
And  long  since  had  their  union  been, 
But  for  her  father's  bigot  spleen, 
Whose  brute  and  blindfold  partj-rage 
Would,  force  per  force,  her  hand  engage 
To  a  base  kern  of  Irish  earth, 
Unknown  his  lineage  and  his  birth, 
Save  that  a  dying  ruffian  bore 
The  infant  brat  to  Rokeby  door. 
Gentle  restraint,  he  said,  would  lead 
Old  Rokeby  to  enlarge  his  creed ; 
But  fair  occasion  he  must  find 
For  such  restraint  well-meant  and  kind, 
The  Knight  being  render'd  to  his  charge 
But  as  a  prisoner  at  large. 

IX. 

**  He  school'd  us  in  a  well-forged  tale, 
Of  scheme  the  Castle  walls  to  scale,^ 
To  which  was  leagued  each  Cavalier 
That  dwells  upon  the  Tyne  and  Wear ; 
That  Rokeby,  his  parole  forgot, 
Had  dealt  with  us  to  aid  the  plot. 
Such  was  the  charge,  which  DenziFs  zeal 
Of  hate  to  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 


[MS. — "  He  school'd  us  then  to  tell  a  tale, 
Of  plot  the  Castle  walls  to  scale, 
To  which  had  sworn  each  Cavalier,'*] 


CANTO  VI.  1  KOKEBir.  257 

Proffer'd,  as  witness,  to  make  good, 

Even  though  the  forfeit  were  their  blood. 

I  scrupled,  until  o'er  and  o*er 

His  prisoners'  safety  Wycliffe  swore ; 

And  then — alas  !  what  needs  there  more  ? 

I  knew  I  should  not  live  to  saj 

The  proffer  I  refiised  that  day  ; 

Ashamed  to  Hve,  yet  loath  to  die, 

I  soil'd  me  with  their  infamy !  " — 

*•  Poor  youth,"  said  Bertram,  "  wavering  still,^ 

Unfit  alike  for  good  or  ill ! 

But  what  fell  next  ?  " — "  Soon  as  at  large  * 

Was  scroU'd  and  sign'd  our  fatal  charge. 

There  never  yet,  on  tragic  stage, 

Was  seen  so  well  a  painted  rage 

As  Oswald's  show'd !  With  loud  alarm 

He  call'd  his  gaiTison  to  arm ; 

From  tower  to  tower,  from  post  to  post, 

He  hurried  as  if  all  were  lost ; 

Consign'd  to  dungeon  and  to  chain 

The  good  old  Knight  and  all  his  train ; 

Warn'd  each  suspected  Cavalier, 

Within  his  limits,  to  appear 


1  [MS. "  sore  bestad! 

Wavering  alike  in  good  and  bad."} 

a  [MS. "  0,  when  at  large 

Was  scroll'd  and  sign'd  our  fatal  charge, 
You  never  yet,  on  tragic  stage, 
Beheld  so  well  a  painted  rage."] 
VOL.   IV.  17 


258  ROKEBY.  [ca:<TO  VL 

To-mori'ow,  at  the  hour  of  noon, 
In  the  high  church  of  Eglistone." — 

X. 

"  Of  Eglistone ! — Even  now  I  pass'd," 
Said  Bertram,  "  as  the  night  closed  fast ; 
Torches  and  cressets  gleam'd  around, 
I  heard  the  saw  and  hammer  sound. 
And  I  could  mark  they  toil'd  to  raise 
A  scaffold,  hung  with  sable  baize, 
Which  the  grim  headsman's  scene  displayed, 
Block,  axe,  and  sawdust  ready  laid. 
Some  evil  deed  will  there  be  done. 
Unless  Matilda  wed  his  son ; — 
She  loves  him  not — '  tis  shrewdly  guess'd 
That  Redmond  rules  the  damsel's  breast. 
This  is  a  turn  of  Oswald's  skill ; 

But  I  may  meet,  and  foil  him  still ! ^ 

How  camest  thou  to  thy  freedom  ?  " — "  There 

Lies  mystery  more  dark  and  rare. 

In  midst  of  Wycliffe's  well-feign'd  rage, 

A  scroll  was  offer'd  by  a  page, 

Who  told,  a  muffled  horseman  late 

Had  left  it  at  the  Castle-gate. 

He  broke  the  seal — his  cheek  show'd  change, 

1  [After  this  line  the  MS.  reads: — 

"  Although  his  soldiers  snatch'd  away, 
Wheu  in  my  very  grasp,  my  prey. — 
Edmund,  how  cam'st  thou  free?  " — "  0  there 
Lies  mystery,"  &c.] 


::A3fTo  VI.]  rok:eby.  259 

Sudden,  portentous,  wild,  and  strange  ; 
The  mimic  passion  of  his  eye 
"Was  turn'd  to  actual  agony ; 
His  hand  like  summer  sapling  shook. 
Terror  and  guilt  were  in  his  look. 
Denzil  he  judged,  in  time  of  need, 
Fit  counsellor  for  evil  deed  ; 
And  thus  apart  his  counsel  broke, 
While  with  a  ghastly  smile  he  spoke  : — 

XI. 

**  *  As  in  the  pageants  of  the  stage, 
The  dead  awake  in  this  wild  age.^ 
Mortham — whom  all  men  deem'd  decreed 
In  his  own  deadly  ^are  to  bleed. 
Slain  by  a  bravo,  whom,  o'er  sea. 
He  train'd  to  aid  in  murdering  me, — 
Mortham  has  'scaped  !  The  coward  shot 
The  steed,  but  harm'd  the  rider  not.' "  ^ 
Here,  with  an  execration  fell, 
Bertram  leap'd  up,  and  paced  the  cell : — 

1  [MS. — "  Tlie  dead  arise  in  this  wild  age, 

Mortham — whom  righteous  heaven  decreed 
Caught  ill  his  own  fell  suare  to  bleed."] 
*  ["  *  Mortham  escaped — the  coward  shot 
TTie  horse — but  harm'd  die  rider  not,'' 
IB  truly  laughable.     How  like  the  denouement  of  the  Covenl 
Garden  Tragedy !  in  which  the  hero  is  supposed  to  have  been 
killed,  but  thus  accounts  for  his  escape, 

'  1  through  the  coat  was,  not  the  body,  run ! '  " 

Monthly  Review.} 


260  ROKEBY.  [CASXOV1 

"  Thine  own  grey  head,  or  bosom  dark," 
He  mutter'd,  "  may  be  surer  mark !  ** 
Then  sat,  and  sigu'd  to  Edmund,  pale 
With  terror,  to  resume  his  tale. 
*'  Wycliffe  went  on  : — '  Mark  with  what  flights 
Of  wilder'd  reverie  he  writes  : — 


THJfi  LETTER. 

" '  Ruler  of  Mortham's  destiny ! 
Though  dead,  thy  victim  lives  to  thee.* 
Once  had  he  all  that  binds  to  life, 
A  lovely  child,  a  lovelier  wife ; 
Wealth,  fame,  and  friendship,  were  his  own- 
Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  they  are  flown.* 
Mark  how  he  pays  thee  : — To  thy  hand 
He  yields  his  honours  and  his  land,^ 
One  boon  premised ; — Restore  his  child ! 
And,  from  his  native  land  exiled, 
Mortham  no  more  returns  to  claim 
His  lands,  his  honours,  or  his  name  ; 
Refuse  him  this,  and  from  the  slain 
Thou  shalt  see  Mortham  rise  again.' — 


1  [MS.—"  Though  dead  to  all,  he  lives  to  thee."J 

2  [MS. — "  Wealth,  fame,  and  happiness,  his  own — 

Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  all  is  flown."] 
8  [The  MS.  adds:— 

"  Nay  more,  ere  one  day's  course  had  rxm^ 
He  rescued  twice  from  death  thy  son. 
Mark  his  demand, — Restore  his  child!  "1 


CANTO  VI.]  ROKEBT.  261 

XII. 

""  This  billet  while  the  Baron  read, 
His  faltering  accents  show'd  his  dread ; 
He  pressed  his  forehead  with  his  palm, 
Then  took  a  scornful  tone  and  cahn ; 
<  Wild  as  the  winds,  as  billows  wild  ! 
What  wot  I  of  his  spouse  or  child  ? 
BQther  he  brought  a  joyous  dame, 
Unknown  her  lineage  or  her  name  : 
Her,  in  some  frantic  fit,  he  slew  ; 
The  nurse  and  child  in  fear  withdrew. 
Heaven  be  mj  witness !  wist  I  where 
To  find  this  youth,  my  kinsman's  heir, — 
Unguerdon'd,  I  would  give  with  joy 
The  father's  arms  to  fold  his  boy, 
And  Mortham's  lands  and  towers  resign 
To  the  just  heirs  of  Mortham's  luie.' — 
Thou  know'st  that  scarcely  e'en  his  fear 
Suppresses  Denzil's  cynic  sneer  ; — 

*  Then  happy  is  thy  vassal's  part,' 
He  said,  '  to  ease  his  patron's  heart ! 
In  thine  own  jailor's  watchful  care 
Lies  Mortham's  just  and  rightful  heir ; 
Thy  generous  wish  is  fully  won, — 
Redmond  O'Neale  is  Mortham's  son.'— 

XIII. 

**  Up  starting  with  a  frenzied  look, 
His  clenched  hand  the  Baron  shook : 

*  Is  Hell  at  work  ?  or  dost  thou  rave. 


262  KOKEBT.  [canto  VI. 

Or  darest  thou  palter  with  me,  slave ! 

Perchance  thou  wot'st  not,  Barnard's  towers 

Have  racks,  of  strange  and  ghastly  powers.' 

Denzil,  who  well  his  safety  knew, 

Firmly  rejoin'd,  '  I  tell  thee  true. 

Thy  racks,  could  give  thee  but  to  know 

The  proofs,  which  I,  untortured,  show. — 

It  chanced  upon  a  winter  night, 

When  early  snow  made  Stanmore  white, 

That  very  night,  when  first  of  all 

Redmond  O'Neale  saw  Rokeby-hall, 

It  was  my  goodly  lot  to  gain 

A  reliquary  and  a  chain. 

Twisted  and  chased  of  massive  gold. 

Demand  not  how  the  prize  I  hold  ! 

It  was  not  given,  nor  lent,  nor  sold. — 

Gilt  tablets  to  the  chain  were  hung, 

"With  letters  in  the  Irish  tongue. 

I  hid  my  spoil,  for  there  was  need 

That  I  should  leave  the  land  with  speed ; 

Nor  then  I  deem'd  it  safe  to  bear 

On  mine  own  person  gems  so  rare. 

Small  heed  I  of  the  tablets  took, 

But  since  have  spell'd  them  by  the  book, 

"When  some  sojourn  in  Erin's  land 

Of  their  wild  speech  had  given  command. 

But  darkling  was  the  sense  ;  the  phrase 

And  language  those  of  other  days, 

Involved  of  purpose,  as  to  foil 

An  interloper's  prying  toil. 


CAXTO  VI.]  EOKEBT.  2G3 

The  words,  but  not  the  sense,  I  knew, 
Till  fortune  gave  the  guiding  clew. 

XIY. 

"  *  Three  days  since,  was  that  clew  revealed, 

In  Thorsgill  as  I  laj  conceal'd,^ 

And  heard  at  full  when  Rokebj's  Maid 

Her  uncle's  history-  displayed ; 

And  now  I  can  interpret  weU 

Each  syllable  the  tablets  telL 

Mark,  then  :  Fair  Edith  was  the  joy 

Of  old  O'Xeale  of  Clandeboy ; 

But  from  her  sire  and  countrv-  fled, 

In  secret  Mortham's  Lord  to  wed. 

O'Neale,  his  first  resentment  o'er, 

Despatch'd  his  son  to  Greta's  shore. 

Enjoining  he  should  make  him  known 

(Until  his  farther  will  were  shown) 

To  Edith,  but  to  her  alone. 

What  of  their  ill-starr'd  meeting  fell, 

Lord  Wycliffe  knows,  and  none  so  welL 

XT. 

"  '  O'Xeale  it  was,  who,  in  despair, 
Robb'd  Mortham  of  his  infant  heir ; 
He  bred  him  in  their  nurture  wild, 
And  call'd  him  murder'd  Connel's  child- 


I  [MS. — "  It  chanced,  three  days  since,  I  was  laid 
Conceal' d  in  Thorsgill's  bosky  shade."] 


264  ROKEBY.  [CA^'IO  VI. 

Soon  died  the  nurse  ;  the  Clan  beHeved 
What  from  their  Chieftain  they  received. 
His  purpose  was,  that  ne'er  again  ^ 
The  boy  should  cross  the  Irish  main 
But,  like  his  mountain  sires,  enjoy 
The  woods  and  wastes  of  Clandeboy. 
Then  on  the  land  wild  troubles  came, 
And  stronger  Chieftains  urged  a  claim, 
And  wrested  from  the  old  man's  hands 
His  native  towers,  his  father*s  lands. 
Unable  then,  amid  the  strife, 
To  guard  young  Redmond's  rights  or  life, 
Late  and  reluctant  he  restores 
The  infant  to  his  native  shores, 
With  goodly  gifts  and  letters  stored. 
With  many  a  deep  conjuring  word, 
To  Mortham  and  to  Rokeby's  Lord. 
Nought  knew  the  clod  of  Irish  earth. 
Who  was  the  guide,  of  Redmond's  birth.; 
But  deem'd  his  Chief's  commands  were  laid 
On  both,  by  both  to  be  obey'd.'^ 
How  he  was  wounded  by  the  way, 
I  need  not,  and  I  list  not  say.' — 

XVI. 

**  *  A  wondrous  tale !  and,  gi'ant  it  true, 
What,'  Wycliife  answer'd,  '  might  I  do  ? 

1  [MS. "  never  more 

The  boy  should  visit  Albion's  shore."] 
S  [The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet.] 


3ASTO  VI.]  ROKEBY.  265 

Heaven  knows,  as  willingly  as  now 
I  raise  the  bonnet  from  my  brow, 
Would  I  my  kinsman's  manors  fair  ^ 
Restore  to  Mortbam,  or  bis  beir ; 
But  Mortbam  is  distraugbt — O'Neale 
Has  drawn  for  tyranny  his  steel, 
Malignant  to  our  rightful  cause, 
And  train'd  in  Rome's  delusive  laws. 
Hark  thee  apart ! ' — They  whisper'd  long, 
Till  Denzil's  voice  grew  bold  and  strong  :— 

*  My  proofs  I  I  never  will,'  be  said, 

*  Show  mortal  man  where  they  ai'e  laid. 
Nor  hope  discovery  to  foreclose, 

By  giving  me  to  feed  the  crows  ; 
For  I  have  mates  at  large,  who  know 
Where  I  am  wont  such  toys  to  stow. 
Free  me  from  peril  and  from  band, 
These  tablets  are  at  thy  command  ; 
Nor  ^vere  it  hard  to  form  some  train, 
To  wile  old  Mortbam  o'er  the  main. 
Then,  lunatic's  nor  papist's  band 
Should  wrest  from  thine  the  goodly  land.*— 
— '  I  like  thy  wit,'  said  Wycliffe,  '  well ; 
But  here  in  hostage  shalt  thou  dweU. 
Thy  son,  unless  my  purpose  err. 
May  prove  the  trustier  messenger. 

I  [MS. — "  Would  I  my  kinsman's  lands  resiprn 
To  Mortham's  self  and  Mortham's  linej 
But  Mortham  raves— and  this  O'Neale 
Has  drawn,"  «S:c.] 


266  ROKEBT.  [CANTO  VL 

A  scroll  to  Mortham  shall  he  bear 
From  me,  and  fetch  these  tokens  rare. 
Gold  shalt  tliou  have,  and  that  good  store, 
And  freedom,  his  commission  o'er ; 
But  if  his  faith  should  chance  to  fail, 
The  gibbet  frees  thee  from  the  jail.' 

XVII. 

**  Mesh'd  in  the  net  himself  had  twined, 
What  subterfuge  could  Denzil  find  ? 
He  told  me,  with  reluctant  sigh, 
That  hidden  here  the  tokens  lie ;  ^ 
Conjured  my  swift  return  and  aid, 
By  all  he  scoflf'd  and  disobey'd,^ 
And  look'd  as  if  the  noose  were  tied, 
And  I  the  priest  who  left  his  side. 
This  scroll  for  Mortham  Wycliffe  gave, 
Whom  I  must  seek  by  Greta's  wave ; 
Or  in  the  hut  where  chief  he  hides, 
Where  Thorsgill's  forester  resides. 
(Thence  chanced  it,  wandering  in  the  glade. 
That  he  descried  our  ambuscade.) 
I  was  dismiss'd  as  evening  fell. 
And  reach'd  but  now  this  rocky  cell." — 
"  Give  Oswald's  letter." — Bertram  read. 
And  tore  it  fiercely,  shred  by  shred : — 
*'A11  lies  and  villany  !  to  blind 
His  noble  kinsman's  generous  mind, 

1  [MS. — "  In  secret  where  the  tokens  lie."] 

2  [MS.—"  By  ties  he  scoffM,"  &c.] 


CAXTOVI.]  KOKEBT.  267 

And  train  liim  on  from  day  to  day, 
Till  he  can  take  his  life  away. — 
And  now,  declare  thy  purpose,  youth. 
Nor  dare  to  answer,  tiave  the  truth ; 
If  aught  I  mark  of  Denzil's  art, 
I'll  tear  the  secret  from  thy  heart ! " — 

XTIII. 

**  It  needs  not     I  renounce,"  he  said, 

"  My  tutor  and  his  deadly  trade. 

Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  declare 

To  Morthara,  Redmond  is  his  heir  ; 

To  tell  him  in  what  risk  he  stands, 

And  yield  these  tokens  to  his  hands. 

Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  atone. 

Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done  ; 

And  fix'd  it  rests — if  I  survive 

This  night,  and  leave  this  cave  alive." — 

"  And  Denzil  ?  " — "  Let  them  ply  the  rack. 

Even  till  his  joints  and  sinews  crack ! 

If  Oswald  tear  him  limb  from  limb, 

What  ruth  can  Denzil  claim  from  him, 

"Whose  thoughtless  youth  he  led  astray, 

And  damn'd  to  this  unhallowed  way  ? 

He  school'd  me,  faith  and  vows  were  vain ; 

Now  let  my  master  reap  his  gain." — 

"  True,"  answer'd  Bertram,  "  'lis  his  meed ; 

There's  retribution  in  the  deed. 

But  thou — thou  art  not  for  our  course, 

Hast  fear,  hast  pity,  hast  remorse  : 


268  ROKEBY.  [CAHTO  VL 

And  he,  with  us  the  gale  who  braves, 
Must  heave  such  cargo  to  the  waves, 
Or  lag  with  overloaded  prore, 
Wliile  bai-ks  unbui-den'd  reach  the  shore." 


XIX. 

He  paused,  and,  stretching  him  at  length, 
Seem'd  to  repose  his  bulky  strength 
Communing  with  his  secret  mind, 
As  half  he  sat,  and  half  reclined, 
One  ample  hand  his  forehead  press'd. 
And  one  was  dropp'd  across  his  breast 
The  shaggy  eyebrows  deeper  came 
Above  his  eyes  of  swarthy  flame  ; 
His  lip  of  pride  awhile  forbore 
The  haughty  curve  till  then  it  wore ; 
The  unalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look 
A  shade  of  darken'd  sadness  took, — ^ 
For  dark  and  sad  a  presage  press'd 
Resistlessly  on  Bertram's  breast, — 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  wonted  tone, 
So  fierce,  abrupt,  and  brief,  was  gone. 
His  voice  was  steady,  low,  and  deep. 
Like  distant  waves  when  breezes  sleep ; 
And  sorrow  mix'd  with  Edmund's  fear. 
Its  low  unbroken  depth  to  hear. 


I  [MS. — ^"  A  darken'd  sad  expression  took,. 

The  unalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look."] 


CAKTO  VI.]  ROKEBY.  269 

XX. 

**  Edmund,  in  thy  sad  tale  I  find 
The  wo  that  warp'd  my  patron's  mind : 
'T would  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye 
In  other  men,  but  mine  are  dry. 
Mortham  must  never  see  the  fool, 
That  sold  himself  base  "Wycliffe's  tool ; 
Yet  less  from  thirst  of  sordid  gain, 
Than  to  avenge  supposed  disdain. 
Say,  Bertram  rues  his  fault ; — a  word, 
Till  now,  from  Bertram  never  heard : 
Say,  too,  that  Mortham's  Lord  he  prays 
To  think  but  on  their  former  days ; 
On  Quariana's  beach  and  rock. 
On  Cayo's  bursting  battle-shock, 
On  Darien's  sands  and  deadly  dew, 
And  on  the  dart  Tlatzeca  threw  ; — 
Perchance  my  patron  yet  may  hear 
More  that  may  grace  his  comrade's  bier.* 
My  soul  hath  felt  a  secret  weight, 
A  warning  of  approaching  fate  : 
A  priest  had  said,  '  Return,  repent !  * 
As  well  to  bid  that  rock  be  rent. 
Firm  as  that  flint  I  face  mine  end ; 
My  heart  may  burst,  but  cannot  bend.^ 


1  f MS. — "  Perchance  that  Mortham  yet  may  hear 
Something  to  grace  his  comrade's  bier."1 
•  [MS. "  ne'er  shall  bend."] 


270  ROKEBY.  [canto  VI. 

XXI. 

"  The  cIa^v^ling  of  my  youth,  with  awe 
And  prophecy,  the  Dalesmen  saw ; 
For  over  Redesdale  it  came, 
As  bodeful  as  their  beacon-flame. 
Edmund,  thy  years  were  scarcely  mine, 
When,  challenging  the  Clans  of  Tyne 
To  bring  their  best  my  brand  to  prove, 
.     O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove  ;  ^ 

1  This  custom  among  the  Redesdale  and  Tynedale  Border- 
ers is  mentioned  in  the  interesting  Life  of  Barnard  Gilpin, 
where  some  account  is  given  of  these  wild  districts,  which  it 
was  the  custom  of  that  excellent  man  regularly  to  visit. 

"  This  custom  (of  duels)  still  prevailed  on  the  Borders, 
where  Saxon  barbarism  held  its  latest  possession.  These 
wild  Northumbrians,  indeed,  went  beyond  the  ferocity  of 
their  ancestors.  They  were  not  content  with  a  duel :  each 
contending  party  used  to  muster  wiiat  adherents  he  could, 
and  commence  a  kind  of  petty  war.  So  that  a  private  grudge 
would  often  occasion  much  bloodshed. 

"  It  happened  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  was  on  foot  when 
Mr.  Gilpin  was  at  Rothbury,  in  those  parts.  During  the  two 
or  three  first  days  of  his  preaching,  the  contending  parties 
observed  some  decorum,  and  never  appeared  at  church  to- 
gether. At  length,  however,  they  met.  One  party  had  been 
early  at  church,  and  just  as  Mr.  Gilpin  began  his  sermon  the 
other  entered.  They  stood  not  long  silent.  Inflamed  at  the 
sight  of  each  other,  they  began  to  clash  their  weapons,  for 
they  were  all  armed  with  javelins  and  swords,  and  mutually 
approached.  Awed,  hov/ever,  by  the  sacredness  of  the  place, 
the  tumult  in  some  degree  ceased.  Vw  Gilpin  proceeded: 
when  again  ths  combatants  began  to  brandish  their  weapons, 
and  draw  towards  each  other.  As  a  fray  seemed  near,  Mr 
Gilpin  stepped  from  the  pulpit,  went  between  them,  and  ad- 
iressed  the  ieaders,  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel  for  the  present 


OAirrovi.]  ROKEBT.  271 

But  Tynedale,  nor  in  tower  nor  town, 
Held  champion  meet  to  take  it  down. 
Mj  noontide,  India  may  declare ; 
Like  her  fierce  sun,  I  fired  the  air! 
Like  him,  to  wood  and  cave  bade  flj 
Her  natives,  from  mine  angiy  eje.  «» 

Panama's  maids  shall  long  look  pale 
Wlien  Risingham  inspires  the  tale ; 

but  could  not  effect  an  entire  reconciliation.  They  promised 
him,  however,  that  till  the  sermon  was  over  they  would  make 
no  more  disturbance.  He  then  went  again  into  the  pulpit, 
and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  in  endcvonring  to  make  them 
ashamed  of  what  they  had  done.  His  behaviour  and  dis- 
course affected  them  so  much,  that,  at  his  farther  entreaty, 
they  promised  to  forbear  all  acts  of  hostility  while  he  con- 
tinued in  the  country.  And  so  much  respected  was  he  among 
them,  that  whoever  was  in  fear  of  his  enemy  used  to  resort 
where  Mr.  GUpin  was,  esteeming  his  presence  the  best  pro- 
tection. 

"  One  Sunday  morning,  coming  to  a  chixrch  in  those  parts, 
before  the  people  were  assembled,  he  obsen-ed  a  glove  hang- 
ing up,  and  was  informed  by  the  sexton,  that  it  was  meant 
as  a  challenge  to  any  one  who  should  take  it  down.  Mr. 
Gilpin  ordered  the  sexton  to  reach  it  him;  but  upon  his 
utterly  refusing  to  touch  it,  he  took  it  down  himseif,  and  put 
it  into  his  breast.  When  the  people  were  assembled,  he  went 
into  the  pulpit,  and,  before  he  concluded  his  sermon,  took 
occasion  to  rebuke  them  severely  for  these  inhuman  chal- 
lenges. '  I  hear,'  saith  he,  *  that  one  among  you  hath  hanged 
up  a  glove,  even  in  this  sacred  place,  threatening  to  fight  any 
one  who  taketh  it  down:  see,  I  have  taken  it  down;'  and, 
oulling  out  the  glove,  he  held  it  up  to  the  congregation,  and 
then  showed  them  how  unsnitable  such  savage  practices 
were  to  the  profession  of  Christianity,  using  such  persuasives 
to  mutual  love  as  he  thought  would  most  affect  them  " — Llje 
"if  Bat-nard  Gilmn.     Lond.  1753,  bvo.  p.  177. 


272  ROKEBY.  [CANTO  Vt 

Chili's  dark  matrons  long  shall  tame 
The  fro  ward  child  with  Bej'tram's  name. 
And  now,  my  race  of  terror  run, 
Mine  be  the  eve  of  tropic  sun  ! 
No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 
No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay ; 
With  disk  like  battle-target  red. 
He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed, 
Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 
Then  sinks  at  once — and  all  is  night. — 

XX  n, 
"  Now  to  thy  mission,  Edmund.     Fly, 
Seek  Mortham  out,  and  bid  him  hie 
To  Richmond,  where  his  troops  are  laid, 
And  lead  his  force  to  Redmond's  aid. 
Say,  till  he  reaches  Eglistone, 
A  friend  will  watch  to  guard  his  son.* 
Now,  fare-thee-well ;  for  night  draws  on, 
And  I  would  rest  me  here  alone." 
Despite  his  ill-dissembled  fear. 
There  swam  in  Edmund's  eye  a  tear ; 
A  tribute  to  the  courage  high. 
Which  stoop'd  not  in  extremity, 
But  strove,  irregularly  great. 
To  triumph  o'er  approaching  fate  ! 

1  [MS.—"  With  him  and  Fairfiix  for  his  friend, 
No  risk  that  Wycliffe  dares  contend. 
Tell  him  the  while,  at  Eglistone 
rheie  will  be  one  to  guard  his  son."] 


DAXTO  VI.]  ROKLBY.  273 

Bertram  beheld  the  dewdiop  start, 
It  almost  touch'd  his  iron  heart  : — 
"  1  did  not  think  there  lived,"  he  said, 
**  One,  who  would  tear  for  Bertram  shed." 
He  loosen'd  then  his  baldric's  hold, 
A  buckle  broad  of  massive  gold ; — 
"  Of  all  the  spoil  that  paid  his  pains, 
But  this  with  Risingham  remains  ; 
And  this,  dear  Edmund,  thou  shalt  take, 
And  wear  it  long  for  Bertram's  sake. 
Once  more — to  Mortham  speed  amain  ; 
Farewell !  and  turn  thee  not  again." 

XXlll. 

The  night  has  yielded  to  the  morn. 
And  far  the  hours  of  prime  are  vvom. 
Oswald,  who,  since  the  dawn  of  day. 
Had  cursed  his  messenger's  delay, 
Impatient  question'd  now  his  train, 
"  Was  Denzil's  son  return'd  again  ?  " 
It  chanced  there  answer'd  of  the  crew, 
A  menial,  who  young  Edmund  knew : 
"  No  son  of  Denzil  this," — he  said ; 
"  A  peasant  boy  from  Winston  glade. 
For  song  and  minstrelsy  renown'd 
And  knavish  pranks,  the  hamlets  round." — 
"  Not  Denzil's  son  ! — From  Winston  vale  !— 
Then  it  was  false,  that  specious  tale  ; 
Or,  worse — he  hath  despatch'd  the  youth 
To  show  to  Mortham's  Lord  its  trutn 
VOL.  IV.  18 


274  IIOKEBY.  [CA^TO  VI 

Fool  that  I  was  ! — but  'tis  too  late ; — 
This  is  the  very  turn  of  fate ! — ^ 
The  tale,  or  true  or  false,  relies 
On  Denzil's  evidence  ! — He  dies  ! — 
Ho !  Provost  Marshal !  instantly 
Lead  Denzil  to  the  gallows-tree  I 
Allow  him  not  a  parting  word ; 
Short  be  the  shrift,  and  sure  the  cord ! 
Then  let  his  gory  head  appal 
Marauders  from  the  Castle-wall. 
Lead  forth  thy  guard,  that  duty  done, 
With  best  despatch  to  Eglistone. — 
■ — Basil,  tell  Wilfrid  he  must  straight 
Attend  me  at  the  Castle-gate." — 

XXIV. 

"  Alas !  "  the  old  domestic  said. 
And  shook  his  venerable  head, 
"  Alas,  my  Lord  !  full  ill  to-day 
May  my  young  master  brook  the  way  I 
The  leech  has  spoke  with  grave  alarm, 
Of  unseen  hurt,  of  secret  harm. 
Of  sorrow  lurking  at  the  heart. 
That  mars  and  lets  his  healing  art." — 
"  Tush,  tell  not  me  !— Romantic  boys 
Pine  themselves  sick  for  airy  toys 
I  will  find  cure  for  Wilfrid  soon ; 
Bid  him  for  Eglistone  be  boune, 

'  fMS. — "  This  is  the  crisis  of  my  fate."! 


PA>TO  VI  ]  ROKEBY.  27r 

And  quick ! — I  hear  the  dull  death-diaim 

Tell  Denzil's  hour  of  fate  is  come." 

He  paused  with  scornful  smile,  and  then 

Resumed  his  train  of  thought  agen. 

"  Now  comes  raj  fortune's  crisis  near ! 

Entreaty  boots  not — instant  fear, 

Nought  else,  can  bend  Matilda's  pride, 

Or  win  her  to  be  Wilfrid's  bride. 

But  when  she  sees  the  scaffold  placed. 

With  axe  and  block  and  headsman  graced. 

And  when  she  deems,  that  to  deny 

Dooms  Redmond  and  her  sire  to  die, 

She  must  give  way. — Then,  were  the  line 

Of  Rokeby  once  combined  with  mine, 

I  gain  the  weather-gage  of  fate  : 

If  Mortham  come,  he  comes  too  late, 

While  I,  allied  thus  and  prepared, 

Bid  him  defiance  to  his  beard. — 

— If  she  prove  stubborn,  shall  I  dare 

To  drop  the  axe  ? — Soft !  pause  we  there. 

Mortham  still  lives — yon  youth  may  tell 

His  tale — and  Fairfax  loves  him  well ; 

Else,  wherefore  should  I  now  delay 

To  sweep  this  Redmond  from  my  way  ? — 

But  she  to  piety  perforce 

Must  yield. — Without  there  !  Sound  to  horse.*" 

xxv. 
Twas  bustle  in  the  court  below, — 
"  Mount,  and  march  forward  ! " — Forth  they  go ; 


276  ROKEBY.  [cAMo  vr 

Steeds  neigh  and  trample  all  around, 

Steel  rings,  spears  glimmer,  trumpets  souncL^ 

Just  then  was  sung  his  parting  h}Tnn ; 

And  Denzil  turn'd  his  eyeballs  dim. 

And,  scarcely  conscious  what  he  sees, 

Follows  the  horsemen  down  the  Tees ;  * 

And  scarcely  conscious  what  he  hears, 

The  trumpets  tingle  in  his  ears. 

O'er  the  long  bridge  they're  sweeping  now, 

The  van  is  hid  by  greenwood  bough ; 

But  ere  the  rearward  had  pass'd  o'er, 

Guy  Denzil  heard  and  saw  no  more  I ' 

One  stroke,  upon  the  Castle  bell, 

To  Oswald  rung  his  dying  kneU. 

XXVI. 

0,  for  that  pencil,  erst  profuse 

Of  chivalry's  emblazon'd  hues. 

That  traced  of  old,  in  Woodstock  bower, 

The  pageant  of  the  Leaf  and  Flower, 

1  [MS. — "  Marks  the  dark  cloud  sweep  down  the  Tees."] 

2  ["  This  subordinate  villain  thus  meets  the  reward  which 
he  deserves.  He  is  altogether  one  of  the  minor  sketches  of 
the  poem,  but  still  adds  a  variety  and  a  life  to  the  group. 
He  IS  besides  absolutely  necessary  for  the  development  of  the 
plot :  and  indeed  a  peculiar  propriety  in  thi?  respect  is  ob- 
ssrvabie  throughout  the  story.  No  character,  and,  compara- 
uiv^ly  speaking,  but  little  description,  is  introduced  that  ia 
unef-seiitial  to  the  narrative;  it  proceeds  clearly,  if  not  rapidly 
throughout ;  and  although  the  plot  becomes  additionally  in- 
volved to  appearance,  as  it  advances,  all  is  satisfactorily 
explained  at  the  last,  or  rather  explains  itself  by  gradua- 
unravelment." — Monthly  Beview.'\ 


CAMOVl.]  KOKEBY.  277 

And  bodied  forth  the  toumej  high, 
Held  for  the  hand  of  Emilj ! 
Then  might  I  paint  the  tumult  broad. 
That  to  the  crowded  abbey  flow'd, 
And  pour'd,  as  with  an  ocean's  sound. 
Into  the  church's  ample  bound  ! 
Then  might  I  show  each  varying  mien, 
Exulting,  woful,  or  serene ; 
Indifference,  with  his  idiot  stare, 
And  Sympathy,  with  anxious  air  ; 
Paint  the  dejected  Cavalier, 
Doubtful,  disarm'd,  and  sad  of  cheer ; 
And  his  proud  foe,  whose  formal  eye 
Claim'd  conquest  now  and  mastery ; 
And  the  brute  crowd,  whose  envious  zeal 
Huzzas  each  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel, 
And  loudest  shouts  when  lowest  lie 
Exalted  worth  and  station  high. 
Yet  what  may  such  a  wish  avail  ? 
'Tis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale,* 

*  [The  Quarterly  Reviewer,  after  quoting  from 
*•  'Tis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale," 

"  Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough," 
adds,  "  Assuredly,  if  such  lines  as  these  had  occurred  more 
frequently  in  Rokeby,  it  would  have  extorted  our  unqualified 
admiration;  and  although  we  lament  that  numerous  little 
blemishes  which  might  easily  be  removed,  have  been  suffered 
to  remain;  that  many  of  the  poetical  ornaments,  though 
^\istly  conceived,  are  faintly  and  indistinctly  drawn ;  and  that 
those  finishing  touches  which  Mr.  Scott  has  the  talcLt  of 
olacing  with  peculiar  taste  and  propriety,  are  t-o  sparingly 


278  BOKEBY.  [CANTO  Yl 

Hm-rying,  as  best  I  can,  along, 
The  hearers  and  the  hasty  song  ; — 
Lilve  traveller  when  approaching  home, 
Who  sees  the  shades  of  evening  come. 
And  must  not  now  his  course  delay, 
Or  choose  the  fair,  but  winding  way  ; 
Nay,  scarcely  may  his  pace  suspend. 
Where  o'er  his  head  the  wildlings  bend, 
To  bless  the  breeze  that  cools  his  brow, 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough. 

XXVII. 

The  reverend  pile  lay  wild  and  waste, 
Profaned,  dishonour'd,  and  defaced. 
Through  storied  lattices  no  more 
In  soften'd  light  the  sunbeams  pour, 
Gilding  the  Gothic  sculpture  rich 
Of  shrine,  and  monument,  and  niche. 
The  Civil  fury  of  the  time 
Made  sport  of  sacrilegious  crime  ;  * 
For  dark  Fanaticism  rent 
Altar,  and  screen,  and  ornament. 
And  peasant  hands  the  tombs  o'eribrew 
Of  Bowes,  of  Rokeby,  and  Fitz-Hugh.^ 

scattered;  we  readily  admit  that  he  has  told  his  'onward 
tale'   with   great  vigour  and  animation;   and  that  he  ha^ 
generally  redeemed  his  faults,  by  the  richness  and  variety  zf 
his  fancy,  or  by  the  interest  of  his  narrative."] 
i  [The  MS.  has  not  this  nor  the  preceding  couplet.] 
*  [MS. — "  And  peasants'  base-born  hands  o'erthrew 
The  tombs  of  Lacy  and  Fitz--Hugh."l 


CASTO  VI.J  ROKEBY.  279 

And  now  was  seen,  unwonted  sight, 

In  holj  walls  a  scaflfold  diglit ! 

Where  once  the  priest,  of  grace  divine 

Dealt  to  his  flock  the  mystic  sign ; 

There  stood  the  block  display 'd,  and  there 

The  headsman  grim  his  hatchet  bare ; 

And  for  the  word  of  Hope  and  Faith, 

Resounded  loud  a  doom  of  death. 

Thrice  the  fierce  trumpet's  breath  was  heard, 

And  echo'd  thrice  the  herald's  word, 

Dooming,  for  breach  of  martial  laws, 

And  treason  to  the  Commons'  cause, 

The  Knight  of  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 

To  stoop  their  heads  to  block  and  steel. 

The  trumpets  flourish'd  high  and  shrill, 

Then  was  a  silence  dead  and  still ; 

^Vnd  silent  prayers  to  heaven  were  cast, 

And  stifled  sobs  were  bursting  fast. 

Till  from  the  crowd  begun  to  rise 

Murmurs  of  sorrow  or  surprise, 

And  from  the  distant  aisles  there  came 

Deep-mutter'd  threats,  with  Wyclifife's  narae.^ 

XXVIII. 

But  Oswakl,  guarded  by  his  band, 
Powerful  in  evil,  waved  his  hand. 
And  bade  Sedition's  voice  be  dead, 
On  peril  of  the  murmurer's  head. 

1  [MS.—"'  Muttering  of  threats,  luil  Wycliffe's  name.'"] 


880  EOKEBT.  [CAXTC  VI 

Tlien  first  his  glance  sought  Rokeby's  Bjiight ; 

Who  gazed  on  the  tremendous  sight, 

As  calm  as  if  he  came  a  guest 

To  kindred  Baron's  feudal  feast,^ 

As  calm  as  if  that  trumpet-call 

Were  summons  to  the  banner'd  hall ; 

Firm  in  his  loyalty  he  stood, 

And  prompt  to  seal  it  with  his  blood. 

Wifh  downcast  look  drew  Oswald  nigh,— 

He  dui-st  not  cope  with  Rokeby's  eye  ! — * 

And  said,  with  low  and  faltering  breath, 

*'  Thou  know'st  the  terms  of  life  and  death.'' 

The  Knight  then  turn'd,  and  sternly  smiled; 

"  The  maiden  is  mine  only  child. 

Yet  shall  my  blessing  leave  her  head, 

If  with  a  traitor's  son  she  wed.'* 

Then  Redmond  spoke  :  "  The  life  of  one  * 

Might  thy  malignity  atone, 

On  me  be  flung  a  double  guilt ! 

Spare  Rokeby's  blood,  let  mine  be  spilt ! " 

Wychffe  had  listen'd  to  his  suit, 

But  dread  prevail'd,  and  he  was  mute. 

1  [MS. — "  Then  from  his  victim  sought  to  know 

The  working  of  his  tragic  show, 
And  first  his  ghance,"  &;c.] 

2  [MS. — "  To  some  high  Baron's  feudal  fea£t, 

And  that  loud  pealing  trumpet  call 

Was  summons,"  &c.J 
8  [MS. — "  He  durst  not  meet  his  scornful  eye."] 
i  [MS. "  the  blood  of  one 

Might  this  malignant  plot  atone."! 


CAjrro  tl]  ROKEBY.  281 

XXIX. 

And  now  he  pours  his  choice  of  fear 
In  secret  on  Matilda's  ear  ; 
"  An  union  form'd  with  me  and  mine, 
Ensures  the  faith  of  Rokebv's  line. 
Consent,  and  all  this  dread  arrar, 
Like  morning  dream  shall  pass  away ; 
Refuse,  and,  by  my  duty  press'd, 
I  give  the  word — thou  know'st  the  rest." 
Matilda,  still  and  motionless. 
With  terror  heard  the  dread  address, 
Pale  as  the  sheeted  maid  who  dies 
To  hopeless  love  a  sacrifice  ; 
Then  wrung  her  hands  in  agony, 
And  round  her  cast  bewilder'd  eye. 
Now  on  the  scaffold  glanced,  and  now 
On  TVycliffe's  unrelenting  brow. 
She  veil'd  her  face,  and,  with  a  voice 
Scarce  audible, — "  1  make  my  choice  ! 
Spare  but  their  lives  I — for  aught  beside, 
Let  Wilfrid's  doom  my  fate  decide. 
He  once  was  generous  !  " — As  she  spoke, 
Dark  Wycliffe's  joy  in  triumph  broke : — 
«  Wilfrid,  where  loiter'd  ye  so  late  ? 
Why  upon  Ba-^il  rest  thy  weight  ? 
Art  spell-bound  by  enchanter's  wand  ? — 
Kneel,  kneel,  and  take  her  yielded  hand ;  * 
I  [In  place  of  this  and  preceding  couplet,  the  MS.  has, 
«  Successful  was  the  scheme  he  plann'd: 
Kneel,  W'lfHdl  take  her  rieided  hand! '  "] 


882  ROKEBY.  [CAJiXO  Vl 

Thank  her  with  raptures,  simple  boy ! 
Should  tears  and  trembling  speak  thy  joy?" — 
"  0  huch,  my  sire  !  To  prayer  and  tear 
Of  mine  thou  hast  refused  thine  ear  ; 
But  now  the  aw^ul  hour  draws  on, 
When  truth  must  speak  in  loftier  tone." 

XXX. 

He  took  Matilda's  hand  :  * — "  Dear  maid, 
Couldst  thou  so  injure  me,"  he  said, 
"  Of  thy  poor  friend  so  basely  deem, 
As  blend  with  him  this  barbarous  scheme  ? 
Alas  !  my  efforts  made  in  vain, 
Might  well  have  saved  this  added  pain.^ 
But  now,  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven, 
■  That  ne'er  was  hope  to  mortal  given, 
So  twisted  ^  with  the  strings  of  life, 
As  this — to  call  Matilda  wife ! 
I  bid  it  now  forever  part. 
And  with  the  effort  bursts  my  heart.'* 
His  feeble  frame  was  worn  so  low, 
With  wounds,  with  watching,  and  with  woe, 
That  nature  could  no  more  sustain 
The  agony  of  mental  pain. 
He  kneel'd — his  lip  her  hand  had  press'd, — * 
Just  then  he  felt  the  stern  arrest. 

1  [MS.—"  He  kneel'd  and  took  her  hand."] 

2  [MS  — "  To  save  the  complicated  pain."] 
%  [US.—'' Blended.''] 

*  [MS.--"  His  lips  upon  her  hands  were  press'd, — 
Just  as  he  felt  the  stern  arrest."] 


CA>TO  ^^.]  ROKEBY.  283 

Lower  and  lower  sunk  his  head, — 
They  raised  him, — but  the  Hfe  was  fled  1 
Then,  first  alarin'd,  his  sire  and  train 
Tried  every  aid,  but  tried  in  vain. 
The  soul,  too  soft  its  ills  to  bear. 
Had  left  our  mortal  hemisphere. 
And  sought  in  better  world  the  meed, 
To  blameless  life  by  Heaven  decreed.^ 

1  ["  The  character  of  Wilfrid  is  as  extensively  drawn,  and 
even  more  so,  perhaps,  than  that  of  Bertram.  And  amidst 
the  fine  and  beautiful  moral  reflections  accompanying  it,  a 
deep  insight  into  the  human  heart  is  discernible: — we  had 
almost  said  an  intuition  more  penetrating  than  even  his,  to 
whom  were  given  these  '  golden  keys  '  that '  unlock  the  gates 
Of  joy.' 

'  Of  horror  that  and  thrilling  fears, 

Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears.' " 

British  Ci^idc. 

"  In  delineating  the  actors  of  this  dramatic  tale,  we  have 
little  hesitation  in  saying,  that  Mr.  Scott  has  been  more  suc- 
cessful than  on  any  former  occasion.  Wilfrid,  a  person  of  the 
first  importance  in  the  whole  management  of  the  plot,  ex- 
hibits an  assemblage  of  qualities  not  unfrequently  combined 
in  real  life,  but,  so  far  as  we  can  recollect,  never  before  rep- 
resented ]n  poetry.  It  is  indeed  a  character  which  required 
to  be  touched  with  great  art  and  delicacy.  The  reader  gen- 
erally expects  to  find  beauty  of  form,  strength,  gi-ace,  and 
agility,  united  with  powerful  passions,  in  the  prominent 
figures  of  romance;  because  these  visible  qualities  are  the 
most  frequent  themes  of  panegyric,  and  usually  the  best 
passports  to  admiration.  The  absence  of  them  is  supposed 
to  throw  an  air  of  ridicule  on  the  pretensions  of  a  candidate 
for  love  or  glory.  An  ordinary  poet,  therefore,  would  have 
despaired  of  awakening  our  sympathy  in  favour  of  that  lofty 
\nd  generous  spirit,  and  keen  sensibility,  which  at  once  ani- 


284  EOKEBT.  rcAN-rovr 

XXXI. 

The  wretched  sire  beheld,  aghast, 

With  Wilfrid  all  his  projects  past, 

All  tum'd  and  centred  on  his  son, 

On  Wilfrid  all — and  he  was  gone. 

"  And  I  am  childless  now,"  he  said ; 

"  Childless,  through  that  relentless  maid ! 

A  lifetime's  arts,  in  vain  essay'd. 

Are  bursting  on  their  artist's  head  ! — 

Here  lies  mj  Wilfrid  dead — and  there 

Comes  hated  Mortham  for  his  heir. 

Eager  to  knit  in  happy  band 

With  Rokehy's  heiress  Redmond's  hand. 

And  shall  their  triumph  soar  o'er  all 

The  schemes  deep-laid  to  work  their  fall  ? 

No ! — deeds,  which  prudence  might  not  dare, 

Appall  not  vengeance  and  despair. 

The  murdress  weeps  upon  his  bier — 

I'll  change  to  real  that  feigned  tear ! 

They  all  shall  share  destruction's  shock ; — 

Ho !  lead  the  captives  to  the  block  !  " — 

But  ill  his  Provost  could  divine 

His  feelings,  and  forbore  the  sign. 


mate  and  consume  the  frail  and  sickly  frame  of  Wilfrid:  yet 
Wilfrid  is,  in  fact,  extremely  interesting;  and  his  death, 
though  obviously  necessary  to  the  condign  punishment  of 
Oswald,  to  the  future  repose  of  Matilda,  and  consequently  to 
the  consummation  of  the  poem,  leaves  strong  emotions  of 
Dity  and  regret  in  the  mind  of  the  reader." — Quarterly  B& 
Heio 


»ASTO  VI.]  ROKEBT.  285 

"  Slave  !  to  the  block ! — or  I,  or  thej, 
Shall  face  the  judgment-seat  this  day  ! " 

xxxn. 
The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound. 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  harden*d  ground ; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  vet  more  near, — 
The  very  deaths-men  paused  to  hear. 
*Tis  in  the  churchyard  now — the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead ! 
Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulchral  stone, 
Return  the  tramp  in  varied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung. 
When  through  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 
A  horseman  ann'd,  at  headlong  speed — 
Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed.^ 
Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spum'd, 
The  vaults  unwonted  clang  retura'd  ! — 
One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 
From  saddlebow  his  pistol  drew. 
Grimly  determined  was  his  look  ! 
His  charger  with  the  spurs  he  strook — 
All  scatter  d  backward  as  he  came, 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham  ! 
Thi-ee  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave ;  * 
The  first  has  reach'd  the  central  nave, 


1  [See  Appendix,  Note  R.] 

•  [ilS. — "  Three  bounds  he  made,  that  ncble  steed; 

JLacies'  tomb       ) 
chancel's  bound  i^^^^^'l 


286  ROKEBY.  [CA^rO  Vt 

The  second  clear'd  the  chancel  wide, 
The  third — he  was  at  Wycliffe's  side. 
Full  levell'd  at  the  Baron's  head, 
Rung  the  report — the  bullet  sped — 
And  to  his  long  account,  and  last, 
Without  a  groan  dark  Oswald  past ! 
All  was  so  quick,  that  it  might  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

XXXIII. 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels ; 
But  flounder'd  on  the  pavement-floor 
The  steed,  and  down  the  rider  bore, 
And,  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
*Twas  while  he  toil'd  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed, 
That  from  amazement's  u*on  trance 
All  Wycliffe's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halberd,  musket-but,  their  blows 
Hail'd  upon  Bertram  as  he  rose ; 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound. 
Bore  down  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground ;' 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spear? 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free, 
Once  gain'd  his  feet,  and  twice  his  knee. 

1  [MS. — "  Oppress'd  and  pinnVl  Irm  to  the  ground."* 


CABTO  -VX]  ROKEBT.  287 

By  tenfold  odds  oppress'd  at  length,^ 
Despite  his  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took  ^  a  hundred  mortal  wounds, 
As  mute  as  fox  'mongst  mangling  hounds ; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan  ! " 
— They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies, 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain, 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again  '.  * 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renew'd. 
And  from  the  trunk,  the  head  had  hew*d, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade  ;  ^ 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid : — 
"  Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind : 
Then  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding  sheet"  • 

1  [ilS. — '*  And  when,  by  odds  borne  down  at  length,**J 
«  [MS.— »  He  bore."] 

*  [ilS. — "  Had  more  of  laugh  in  it  than  moan."] 

*  [MS. — "  But  held  their  weapons  ready  set. 

Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  him  yet."] 

*  [MS. — ^"  But  Basil  check'd  them  with  disdain, 

And  flung  a  mantle  o'er  the  slain."] 
['•  Whether  we  see  him  scaling  the  clifls  in  desperate 
course,  and  scaring  the  hawks  and  the  ravens  from  their 
nest? ;  or,  while  the  Castle  is  on  fire,  breaking  from  the  cen- 
tral mass  of  smoke;  or  amidst  the  terrific  circumstances  of 
bi£  death  wheu  his 

'  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  o*"  moan,' 


288  ROKEBY.  [canto  VI. 

XXXIV. 

No  more  of  death  and  dying  pang, 

No  more  of  trump  and  bugle  ckmg, 

Though  through  the  sounding  woods  there  come 

Banner  and  bugle,  trump  and  drum. 

Arm'd  with  such  powers  as  well  had  freed 

Young  Redmond  at  his  utmost  need, 

And  back'd  with  such  a  band  of  horso, 

As  might  less  ample  powers  enforce ; 

Possess'd  of  every  proof  and  sign 

That  gave  an  heir  to  Mortham's  hne, 

And  yielded  to  a  father's  arms 

An  image  of  liis  Edith's  charms, — 

Mortham  is  come,  to  hear  and  see 

Of  this  strange  morn  the  history. 

What  saw  he  ? — not  the  church's  floor 

Cumber'd  with  dead  and  stain'd  with  gore ; 

What  heard  he  ? — not  the  clamorous  crowd, 

That  shout  their  gratulations  loud  : 

Redmond  he  saw  and  heard  alone, 

Clasp'd  him,  and  sobb'd,  "  My  son,  my  son ! " — ^ 

we  mark  his  race  of  terror,  with  the  poet,  like  the  '  eve  of 
fcropic  3un ! ' 

'  No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 

No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay; 

With  disk  like  battle-target  red, 

He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed; 

Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 

Then  sinks  at  once— and  all  is  night! '  " 

British  Critic.^ 
1  [MS.— Here  the  Author  of  Kokeby  wrote, 

"  End  of  Canto  VI." 
Stanza  xxxv.  added  at  the  request  of  the  printer  and 


CAiTOVI.]  KOKEBY.  289 

XXXV. 

This  chanced  upon  a  summer  morn, 

When  yellow  waved  the  heavy  corn : 

But  when  brown  August  o'er  the  land 

Call'd  forth  the  reaper's  busy  band, 

A  gladsome  sight  the  sylvan  road 

From  Eglistone  to  Mortham  show'd. 

Awhile  the  hardy  rustic  leaves 

The  task  to  bind  and  pile  the  sheaves, 

And  maids  their  sickles  fling  aside. 

To  gaze  on  bridegroom  and  on  bride, 

And  childhood's  wondering  group  di'aws  near, 

And  from  the  gleaner's  hands  the  ear 

Drops,  while  she  folds  them  for  a  prayer 

And  blessing  on  the  lovely  pair. 

'Twas  then  the  JSIaid  of  Rokeby  gave 

Her  plighted  troth  to  Redmond  brave ; 

And  Teesdale  can  remember  yet 

How  Fate  to  Virtue  paid  her  debt. 

And,  for  their  troubles,  bade  them  prove 

A  lengthen'd  Hfe  of  peace  and  love. 


another  friend,  was  accompanied  by  the  following  note  to 
Mr.  BallantjTie: — 

"  Dear  James, 
"  I  send  you  this,  out  of  deference  to  opinions  o  strongly 
expressed;   but  still  retaining  nay  own.  that  it  epoila  one 
effect  without  producing  another. 

"W.  s-j 

VOL.   IV.  19 


290  ROKEBY.  [canto  TI. 

Time  and  Tide  had  thus  their  sway, 
Yielding  like  an  April  day, 
Smiling  noon  for  sullen  morrow, 
Years  of  joy  for  hours  of  sorrow  !  ^ 


1  ["  ^Ir.  Scott  has  now  confined  himself  within  mtich  nar- 
rower limits,  and,  by  descending  to  the  sober  annals  of  the 
Beveuteenth  century,  has  renounced  nearly  all  those  orna- 
ments of  Gothic  pageantry,  which,  in  consequence  of  the 
taste  with  which  he  displayed  them,  had  beeu  tolerated,  and 
even  admired,  by  modern  readers.  He  has  subjected  hia 
style  to  a  seVerer  code  of  criticism.  The  language  of  the 
poet  is  often  unconsciously  referred  to  the  date  of  the  inci- 
dents which  he  relates;  so  that  what  is  careless  or  idiomatic 
escapes  censure,  as  a  supposed  anomaly  of  antique  diction: 
and  it  is,  perhaps,  partly  owing  to  this  impression,  that  the 
phraseology  of  '  Marmlon,'  and  of  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake,' 
has  appeared  to  us  to  be  no  less  faulty  than  that  of  the  present 
poem. 

*'  But,  be  this  as  it  may,  we  confidently  persist  in  thinking, 
that  in  this  last  experiment,  Mr.  Scott's  popularity  will  be 
etill  farther  confirmed ;  because  we  have  found  by  experience, 
that,  although  during  the  first  hasty  inspection  of  the  poem, 
undertaken  for  the  gratification  of  our  curiosity,  some  blem- 
ishes intruded  themselves  upon  our  notice,  the  merits  of  the 
Btory,  and  the  minute  shades  of  character  displayed  in  the 
conduct  of  it,  have  been  sufficient,  during  many  succeeding 
perusals,  to  awaken  our  feelings,  and  to  reanimate  and  sus- 
tain our  attention. 

"  The  original  fiction  from  which  the  poem  is  derived,  ap- 
pears to  us  to  be  constructed  with  considerable  ability:  but 
it  is  on  the  felicity  with  which  the  poet  has  expanded  and 
dramatized  it;  on  the  diversity  of  the  characters;  on  the  skill 
with  which  they  are  unfolded,  and  on  the  ingenuity  with 
which  every  incident  is  reudered  subservient  to  his  final  pur- 
pose, that  we  chiefly  found  our  preference  of  this  over  hia 
"ormer  productions.     From  tli*.  first  canto  to  the  last,  nothing 


ROKEBi.  291 

Is  superfluous.  The  arrival  of  a  nocturnal  visitor  at  Barnard 
Castle  is  announced  with  such  solemnity,  the  previous  ter- 
rors of  Oswald,  the  arrogance  and  ferocity  of  Bertram,  his 
abruptness  and  discourtesy  of  demeanour,  are  so  minutely 
delineated,  that  the  picture  seems  as  if  it  had  been  introduced 
for  tlie  sole  purpose  of  displaying  the  author's  powers  of  de- 
scription; yet  it  is  from  this  visit  that  all  the  subsequent 
incidents  naturally,  and  almost  necessarily  flow.  Onr  curi- 
osity is,  at  the  very  commencement  of  the  poem,  most  pow- 
erfully excited;  the  principal  actors  in  the  scene  exhibit 
themselves  distinctly  to  our  view,  the  development  of  the 
plot  is  perfectly  continuous,  and  our  attention  is  never  inter- 
rcpted,  or  suffered  to  relax." — Quarterly 


"  This  production  of  Mr.  Scott  altogether  abounds  in  im- 
agery and  description  less  than  either  of  its  precursors,  in 
pretty  nearly  the  same  proportion  as  it  contains  more  of 
dramatic  incident  and  character.  Yet  some  of  the  pictures 
which  it  presents  are  highly  ^vrought  and  vividly  coloured; 
for  example,  the  terribly  animated  narrative,  in  the  fifth  canto, 
of  the  battle  within  the  hall,  and  the  conflagration  of  the 
mansion  of  Rokeby. 

"  Several  defects,  of  more  or  less  importance,  we  noticed, 
or  imagined  that  we  noticed,  as  we  read.  It  appears  like 
presumption  to  accuse  Mr.  Scott  of  any  failure  in  respect  of 
costume — of  the  manners  and  character  of  the  times  which 
he  describes — yet  the  impression  produced  on  our  minds  by 
the  perusal,  has  certainly  been,  that  we  are  thrown  back  in 
imagination  to  a  period  considerably  antecedent  to  that  which 
he  intends  to  celebrate.  The  other  faults,  we  remarked,  con- 
sist principally  in  the  too  frequent  recurrence  of  those  which 
we  have  so  often  noticed  on  former  occasions,  and  which  are 
so  incorporated  with  the  poet's  style,  that  it  is  now  become 
Hs  useless  as  it  is  painful,  to  repeat  the  censures  which  they 
«ave  occasioned. 

"  We  have  been  informed  that '  Rokeby '  has  hitherto  cur- 
eulated  less  rapidly  than  has  usually  been  the  case  with  Mr. 
Scott's  works.    If  the  fact  be  so,  we  are  inclined  to  attribute 


292  ROKEBT. 

it  solely  to  accidental  circumstance?;  beinjr  p<'r>i  aded  that 
'the  defects  of  the  poem  are  only  common  to  it  -with  all  the 
productions  of  its  author;  that  they  are  even  less  numerous 
than  in  most;  and  that  its  beauties,  though  of  a  different 
stamp,  are  more  profusely  scattered,  aud,  upon  the  whole,  of 
a  higher  order." — Critical  Review. 


"  Such  is  Rokeby;  and  our  readers  must  confess  that  it  is 
a  very  interesting  tale.  Alone,  it  would  stamp  the  author 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  of  English  poets.  Of  the  story, 
we  need  hardly  say  any  thing  farther.  It  is  complicated 
without  being  confused,  and  so  artfully  suspended  in  its  un- 
ravelment,  as  to  produce  a  constantly  increasing  sensation  of 
curiosity.  Parts,  indeed,  of  the  catastrophe  may  at  intervals 
be  foreseen,  but  they  are  like  the  partial  glimpses  that  we 
catch  of  a  noble  and  well-shaded-  building,  which  does  not 
break  on  us  in  all  its  proportion  and  in  all  its  beauty,  until 
we  suddenly  an-ive  in  front.  Of  the  characters,  we  have 
something  to  observe,  in  addition  to  our  private  remarks. 
Our  readers  may  perhaps  have  seen  that  we  have  frequently 
applied  the  tenn  skeich,  to  the  several  personages  of  the 
drama.  Now,  although  this  poem  possesses  more  variety  of 
well-sustained  character  than  any  other  of  Mr.  Scott's  per- 
formances— although  Wilfrid  will  be  a  favourite  with  every 
lover  of  the  soft,  the  gentle,  and  the  pathetic,  while  Edmund 
offers  a  fearful  warning  to  misused  abilities — and  although 
Bedmond  is  indeed  a  man,  compared  to  the  Cranstoun  of  The 
Lay,  to  the  ]Yilton  of  Mai-mion,  or  to  the  Malcolm  of  the  Lady 
of  die  Lake;  yet  is  Redmond  himself  but  a  sketch  compared 
to  Bertram.  Here  is  Mr.  Scott's  true  and  favourite  hero. 
He  has  no  *  sneaking  kindness'  for  these  barbarians; — he 
boldly  adopts  and  patronizes  them.  Deloraine  (it  has  hu- 
morously been  obsei-ved)  would  have  been  exactly  what 
Marmion  was,  could  he  have  read  and  written ;  Bertram  is  a 
happy  mixture  of  both;  as  great  a  villain,  il  possible,  as 
Marmion;  and,  if  possible,  us  great  a  scamp  as  Deloraine.  His 
character  is  completed  by  a  dash  of  the  fierceness  of  Roderick 
i)hu.     We  do  not  here  enter  into  the  question  as  to  the  goo<J 


ROKEBT.  293 

suste  of  an  autlior  who  emp'oys  his  utmost  strength  of  de- 
scription on  a  compound  of  bad  qualities;  but  we  must 
observe,  in  the  way  of  protest  for  the  present,  that  something 
must  be  wrong  where  poetical  effect  and  moral  approbation 
are  so  much  at  variance.  We  leave  untouched  the  general 
argument,  whether  it  makes  any  difference  for  poetical  pur- 
poses, that  a  hero's  vices  or  his  virtues  should  preponderateu 
Powerful  indeed  must  be  the  genius  of  the  poet  who,  out  of 
Buch  materials  as  those  above  mentioned,  caji  form  an  inter- 
esting whole.  This,  however,  is  the  fact;  and  Bertrimi  aS 
time«!  so  overcomes  hatred  with  admiration,  that  he  (or  rather 
his  paiuter)  is  almost  pardonable  for  his  energy  alone.  There 
is  a  charm  about  this  spring  of  mind  whicli  bears  down  all 
opposition, '  and  throws  a  brilliant  veil  of  light  over  the  most 
hideous  deformity.'  This  is  the  fascination — this  is  the 
variety  and  vigour  by  which  Mr.  Scott  recommends  barbar- 
ous heroes,  undignified  occurrences,  and  occasionally,  the 
most  incorrect  language,  and  the  most  imperfect  versifica- 
tion— 

"  Catch  but  his  fire — '  And  you  forgive  him  all.*  " 

MonMy  Beview. 


**  That  Kokeby,  as  a  whole,  is  equally  interesting  with  Mr. 
Scott's  former  works,  we  are  by  no  means  prepared  to  assert. 
But  if  there  be,  comparatively,  a  diminution  of  interest,  it  is 
evidently  owing  to  no  other  cause  than  the  time  or  place  of 
its  action — the  sobrietA-  of  the  period,  and  the  abated  wild- 
ness  of  the  scenery.  With  us,  the  wonder  is,  that  a  period 
BO  late  as  that  of  Charles  the  First,  could  have  been  managed 
BO  dexterously,  and  have  been  made  so  happily  subservient 
to  poetic  invention. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  declaring  our 
opinion,  that  the  tale  of  Kokeby  is  much  better  told  than 
those  of  *  The  Lay,'  or  of  '  Marmion.'  Its  characters  are  in- 
troduced with  more  ea^e ;  its  incidents  are  more  natural ;  one 
event  is  more  necessarily  generated  by  another;  the  reader's 
mind  is  kept  more  in  suspense  with  respect  to  the  termina- 
tion of  the  story;  and  the  moral  reflections  interspersed  are 


294  ROKEBT 

of  a  deeper  cast.  Of  the  versification,  also,  we  can  justly 
pronounce,  that  it  is  more  polished  than  in  '  ^larmion,'  or 
The  Lay;'  and  though  we  have  marked  some  careless  lines, 
yet  even  in  the  instance  of  *  bold  disorder,'  Kokeby  can  fur- 
nish little  room  for  animadversion.  In  fine,  if  we  must  com- 
pare him  with  himself,  we  judge  Mr.  Scott  has  given  us  a 
poem  in  Rokeby,  superior  to  '  Marmion,'  or  '  The  Lay,'  but 
not  equal,  perhaps,  to  *  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  " — British 
Critic.} 


APPENDIX 


TO 


ROKEBY. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 
On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees' s  stream,  (^"c. — P.  27. 

"  Barnari*  Castle,"  saith  old  Leiaiul,  "  standeth 
Btately  upon  Tees."  It  is  founded  upon  a  very  high 
bank,  and  its  ruins  impend  over  the  river,  including 
within  the  area  a  circuit  of  six  acres  and  upwards. 
This  once  magnificent  fortress  derives  its  name  from 
its  founder,  Barnard  Baliol,  the  ancestor  of  the  short 
and  unfortunate  dynast)' of  that  name,  which  succeeded 
to  the  Scottish  throne  under  the  patronage  of  Edward 
I.  and  Edward  lU.  Baliol's  Tower,  afterwards  men- 
tioned in  the  poem,  is  a  round  tower  of  great  size, 
situated  at  the  western  extremity  of  the  building.  It 
bears  marks  of  great  antiquity,  and  was  remarkable 
for  the  curious  construction  of  its  vaulted  roof,  which 
has  been  lately  greatly  injured  by  the  operations  of 
some  persons,  to  whom  the  tower  has  been  leased  for  the 
purpose  of  making  patent  shot !  The  prospect  f)om 
the  top  of  Baliol's  Tower  commands  a  rich  and  masr- 
nificent  view  of  the  wooded  valley  of  the  Tees. 

Barnard  Castle  often  changed  masters  during  the 
middle  ages.  Upon  the  forfeiture  of  the  unfortunate 
John  Baliol,  the  first  king  of  Scotland  of   that  familv 


298  APPENDIX    TO 

Edward  I.  seiztKi  this  fortress  amon;;  the  other  Eng- 
lish  estates  of  his  refractory  vassal.  It  was  afterAvards 
vested  in  the  Beauchamps  of  Warwick,  and  in  the 
Staifords  of  Buckingham,  and  was  also  sometimes  in 
the  possession  of  the  Bishops  of  Durham,  and  some- 
times in  that  of  the  crown.  Richard  III.  is  said 
to  have  enlarged  and  strengthened  its  fortifications, 
and  to  have  made  it  for  some  time  his  principal  resi- 
dence, for  the  purpose  of  bridhng  and  suppressing  the 
Lancastrian  faction  in  the  northern  counties.  From 
the  Staffords,  Barnard  Castle  passed,  j^robably  by 
marriage,  into  the  possession  of  the  powerful  Nevilles, 
Earls  of  Westmoreland,  and  belonged  to  the  last  rep- 
resentative of  that  family  when  he  engaged  with  the 
Earl  of  Northumberland  in  the  ill-concerted  insurrec- 
tion of  the  twelfth  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Upon  this 
occasion,  however.  Sir  George  Bowes  of  Sheatlam, 
who  held  great  possessions  in  the  neighbourhood,  antic- 
ipated the  two  insurgent  earls,  by  seiznig  upon  and 
garrisoning  Barnard  Castle,  which  he  held  out  for  ten 
days  against  all  their  forces,  and  then  surrendered  it 
upon  honourable  terms.  See  Sadler's  State  Papers, 
vol.  ii.  p.  330.  In  a  ballad,  contained  in  Percy's  Re- 
liques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  i.,  the  siege  is  thus  com- 
memorated :  — 

'*  Then  Sir  George  Bowes  he  straightway  rose 

After  them  some  spoyle  to  make ; 
These  noble  erles  turned  back  againe, 

And  aye  they  vowed  that  knight  to  take. 

"  That  baron  he  to  his  castle  fled; 

To  Barnard  Castle  then  fled  he; 
The  uttermost  walles  were  eathe  to  won, 

The  eiies  have  won  them  presentlio. 


KOKEBT.  299 

"  The  nttermost  walles  were  lime  and  bnck  ; 

But  though  they  won  them  soon  anoi^e, 
Long  ere  they  wan  the  innermost  walles, 

For  they  were  cut  in  ruck  of  stone." 

The  Rising  in  the  North. 

By  the  suppression  of  this  rebellion,  and  the  conse- 
quent forfeiture  of  the  Earl  of  "Westmoreland,  Bar- 
nard Castle  reverted  to  the  crown,  and  was  sold  or 
leased  out  to  Car,  Earl  of  Somerset,  the  guilt}'  and 
unhappy  favourite  of  James  I.  It  was  afterwards 
granted  to  Sir  Henry  Yane  the  elder,  and  was  there- 
fore, in  all  probability',  occupied  for  the  Parliament, 
whose  interest  during  the  CwW  AVar  was  so  keen!} 
espoused  by  the  Vanes.  It  is  now,  with  the  other 
estates  of  that  family,  the  property  of  the  Right 
Honourable  the  Earl  of  Deirlington. 


Note  B. 

The  morio7i's  plumes  his  visage  hide, 
And  the  buff-coat,  an  ample  fold, 
Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould. — P.  32. 

The  use  of  complete  suits  of  armour  was  fallen  into 
disuse  during  the  Civil  War,  though  they  were  still 
worn  by  leaders  of  rank  and  unportance.  "  In  the 
reign  of  King  James  L,"  says  our  military  antiquary, 
'*  no  great  alterations  were  made  in  the  article  of  de- 
fensive armour,  except  that  the  buflf-coat,  or  jerkiu, 
which  wafc  originally  worn  under  the  cuirass,  now 
became  frequently  a  substitute  for  it,  it  having  been 
fournl  that  a  good  buff  leather  would  of  itself  resist 
the  stroke  of  a  sword  ;  this  however,  only  occasionally 


BOO  APPENDIX    TO 

took  place  among  the  light-armed  cavalry  and  infantry, 
compk  te  suits  of  armour  being  still  used  among  the 
heavy  horse.  Buff-ooats  continued  to  be  worn  by  the 
cit\'  trained-bands  till  within  the  memorj'  of  pei*sons 
now  Hving,  so  that  defensive  armour  may,  in  some 
measure,  be  said  to  have  terminated  in  ihe  same  ma- 
terials with  which  it  began,  that  is,  the  skins  of  ani- 
mals, or  leather." — Grose's  Military  Antiquities. 
Lond.  1801,  4to,  vol.  ii.  p.  323. 

Of  the  buff-coats,  which  were  worn  over  the  cors- 
lets, several  are  yet  preserved ;  and  Captain  Grose 
has  given  an  engraving  of  one  which  was  used  in  the 
time  of  Charles  I.  by  Sir  Frances  Rhodes,  Bart  of 
Balbrough-Hall,  Derbyshire.  They  were  usually  lined 
with  silk,  or  linen,  secured  before  by  buttons,  or  by  a 
lace,  and  often  richly  decorated  with  gold  or  silver 
embroidery.  From  the  following  curious  account  of  a 
dispute  respecting  a  buflk-oat  between  an  old  round- 
head captain  and  a  justice  of  peace,  by  whom  his  arms 
were  seized  after  the  Restoration,  we  learn  that  the 
value  and  importance  of  this  defensive  garment  were 
considerable :  "A  pai-ty  of  horse  came  to  my  house, 
commanded  by  Mr.  Peebles ;  and  he  told  me  he  was 
come  for  my  arms,  and  that  I  must  deliver  them.  I 
asked  him  for  his  order.  He  told  me  he  had  a  better 
order  than  Oliver  used  to  give ;  and,  clapping  his 
hand  upon  his  sword-hilt,  he  said,  that  was  his  order. 
I  told  him,  if  he  had  none  but  that,  it  was  not  suffi- 
cient to  take  my  arms ;  and  then  he  pulled  out  his 
warrant,  and  I  read  it.  It  was  signed  by  Wentworth 
Armitage,  a  general  warrant  to  search  all  persons  they 
Buspected,  and  so  left  the  power  to  the  soldiers  at  their 
oleasure.     They  came  to  us  at  Coalley-Hall,   about 


ROKEBT.  301 

Bun-setting ;  and  I  caused  a  candle  to  be  lighted,  and 
conveyed  Peebles  into  the  room  where  my  arms  were. 
My  anns  were  near  the  kitchen  fire  ;  and  there  they 
took  away  fowling-pieces,  pistols,  muskets,  carbines, 
and  such  like,  better  than  20Z.  Then  Mr.  Peeblps 
asked  me  for  my  buff-coat ;  and  I  told  him  they  had 
no  order  to  take  away  my  apparel.  He  told  me  I  was 
not  to  dispute  their  orders ;  but  if  I  would  not  deliver 
it,  he  would  carry  me  away  prisoner,  and  had  me  out 
of  doors.  Yet  he  let  me  alone  unto  the  next  morning, 
that  I  must  wait  upon  Sir  John,  at  Halifax;  and 
coming  before  him,  he  threatened  me,  and  said,  if  I 
did  not  send  the  coat,  for  it  was  too  good  for  me  to 
keep.  I  told  him  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  demand 
my  apparel ;  and  he,  growing  into  a  fit,  called  me 
rebel  and  traitor,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  the  coat 
with  all  speed,  he  would  send  me  where  I  did  not  like 
well.  I  told  him  I  was  no  rebel,  and  he  did  not  well 
to  call  me  so  before  these  soldiers  and  gentlemen,  to 
make  me  the  mark  for  every  one  to  shoot  at.  I  de- 
parted the  room ;  yet,  notwithstanding  all  the  threat- 
enings,  did  not  send  the  coat.  But  the  next  day  he 
sent  John  Lyster,  the  son  of  Mr.  Thomas  Lyster,  of 
Shipden-Hall,  for  this  coat,  with  a  letter,  verbatim 
thus: — 'Mr.  Hodson,  I  admire  you  will  play  the  child 
BO  with  me  as  you  have  done,  in  writing  such  an  in- 
considerate letter.  Let  me  have  the  buff-coat  sent 
forthwith,  otherwise  you  shall  so  hear  from  me  as  will 
not  very  well  please  you.'  I  was  not  at  home  when 
this  messenger  came  ;  but  I  had  ordered  my  wife  not 
to  deliver  it,  but,  if  they  would  take  it,  let  them  look 
to  ft ;  and  he  took  it  away ;  and  one  of  Sir  John'p 
bret  iren  wore  it  many  years  after.     They  sent  Cap 


302  APPENDIX    TO 

taiji  Butt  to  compound  with  my  wife  about  it ;  but  1 
lent  word  I  would  have  my  own  again  ;  but  he  advised 
me  1o  take  a  price  for  it,  and  make  no  more  ado.  1 
said,  it  was  hard  to  take  my  arms  and  apparel  too ; 
I  had  laid  out  a  great  deal  of  money  for  them ;  I 
hoped  they  did  not  mean  to  destroy  me,  by  taking  my 
goods  illegally  from  me.  He  said  he  would  naake  up 
the  matter,  if  I  pleased,  betwixt  us ;  and,  it  seems,  had 
brought  Sir  John  to  a  price  for  my  coat.  I  would  not 
have  taken  101.  for  it ;  he  would  have  given  about  4l. ; 
but,  wanting  my  receipt  for  the  money,  he  kept  both 
Bides,  and  I  had  never  satisfaction." — Memoirs  of  Cap- 
tain Hodgson,  Edin,  1806,  p.  178. 


Note  C. 

Monckton  and  Jilitton  told  the  news, 

How  troops  of  roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 

Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  past. 

Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed. — P.  51. 

Monckton  and  Mitton  are  villages  near  the  river 
Ouse,  and  not  very  distant  from  the  field  of  battle. 
The  particulars  of  the  action  were  violently  disputed 
at  the  time  ;  but  the  following  extract,  from  the  Manu- 
script History  of  the  Baronial  House  of  Somerville,  is 
decisive  as  to  the  flight  of  the  Scottish  general,  the 
Earl  of  Leven.  The  particulars  are  given  by  the 
author  of  the  history  on  the  authority  of  his  father, 
rUen  i\\Q  representative  of  the  family.     This  curiou? 


ROKEBT.  303 

manuscript  has  been  published  by  consent  of  niyjoble 
friend,  the  present  Lord  Somerville. 

"  The  order  of  this  great  battell,  wherin  both  armies 
was  neer  of  ane  equall  number,  consisting,  to  the  best 
calculatiDne,  neer  to  three  score  thousand  men  upon 
both  sydes,  I  shall  not  take  upon  me  to  discryve : 
albeit,  from  the  draughts  then  taken  upon  the  place, 
and  information  I  receaved  from  this  gentleman,  who 
being  then  a  volunteer,  as  having  no  command,  had 
opportunitie  and  libertie  to  ryde  from  the  one  wing  of 
the  armie  to  the  other,  to  view  all  ther  several  squad- 
rons of  horse  and  battallions  of  foot,  how  formed,  and 
in  what  manner  drawn  up,  with  every  other  circum- 
stance relating  to  the  fight,  and  that  both  as  to  the 
Kinjr's  armies  and  that  of  the  ParUament's.  amonjTst 
whom,  untill  the  engadgment,  he  went  from  statione 
to  statione  to  observe  ther  order  and  forme ;  but  that 
the  discriptione  of  this  battell,  with  the  various  success 
on  both  sides  at  the  beginning,  with  the  loss  of  the 
royal  armie,  and  the  sad  effects  that  followed  that  mis- 
fortune as  to  his  Majestie'ij  interest,  hes  been  so  often 
done  already  by  English  authors,  little  to  our  com- 
mendatione,  how  justly  I  shall  not  dispute,  seing  the 
truth  is,  eis  our  principall  generall  fled  that  night  neei 
fourtie  mylles  from  the  place  of  the  fight,  that  part  of 
the  armie  where  he  commanded  being  totallie  routed 
but  it  is  as  true,  that  much  of  the  ^'ictorie  is  attributed 
to  the  good  conduct  of  David  Lesselie,  lievetennent- 
generall  of  our  horse.  Cromwell  himself,  that  minione 
of  fortune,  but  the  rod  of  Gk>d's  wrath,  to  punish  eftir- 
ward  three  rebellious  nations,  disdained  not  to  take 
orders  from  him,  albeit  then  in  the  same  qualitie  of 
Lommand  for  the  Parliament,  as  being  lievetennent 


304  APPENDIX   TO 

general  to  the  Earl  of  Manchester's  horse,  -whom,  with 
the  assistance  of  the  Scots  horse,  haA'cing  routed  the 
Prince's  right  wing,  as  he  had  done  that  of  the  Par- 
liament's. These  two  commanders  of  the  horse  upon 
that  wing,  wisely  restrained  the  great  bodies  of  their 
horse  from  persuing  these  brockeu  troups,  but,  wheel- 
ling  to  the  left-hand,  falls  in  upon  the  naked  flanks  of 
the  Prince's  main  battallioa  of  foot,  car}ing  them 
doune  with  great  violence  ;  nether  mett  they  with  any 
great  resistance  untill  they  came  to  the  Marques  of 
Newcastle  his  battallione  of  AVhite  Coats,  who,  first 
peppering  them  soundly  with  ther  shott,  when  they 
came  to  charge,  stoutly  boor  them  up  with  their  picks 
that  the>'  could  not  enter  to  break  them.  Here  the 
Parliament's  horse  of  that  wing  receaved  ther  greatest 
losse,  and  a  stop  for  sometyme  putt  to  ther  hoped-for 
victorie  ;  and  that  only  by  the  stout  resistance  of  this 
gallant  battallione,  which  consisted  neer  of  four  thou- 
sand foot,  untill  at  length  a  Scots  regiment  of  dragouns, 
commanded  by  Collonell  Frizeall,  with  other  two,  was 
brought  to  open  them  upon  some  hand,  which  at 
length  they  did,  when  all  the  ammunitione  was  spent. 
Having  refused  quarters,  every  man  fell  in  the  same 
order  and  ranke  wherin  he  had  foughten. 

"  Be  this  execution  was  done,  the  Prince  returned 
from  the  persuite  of  the  right  wing  of  the  Parliament's 
horse,  which  he  had  beatten  and  followed  too  farre,  to 
the  losse  of  the  battell,  which  certanely,  in  all  men's 
opinions,  he  might  ha^e  caryed  if  he  had  not  been  too 
violent  upon  the  persuite ;  which  gave  his  enemies 
upon  the  left-hand  opportunitie  to  disperse  and  cut 
doune  his  infantrie,  who,  haveing  cleared  tlic  field  of  ali 
♦he  standing  bodies  of  toot,   were   now,  with  nianj 


EOKEBT.  305 

*  *  *  of  their  onne,  standing  rea'ly  to  receare 
the  ^hnnre  of  his  allraort  sp<?nt  horses,  if  he  should 
attempt  it ;  which  the  Prince  obseri'eincr,  and  seing  all 
lost,  he  retreated  to  Yorke  -n-ith  two  thousand  horse. 
Notwithstanding  of  this,  ther  was  that  night  such  a 
consternatione  in  the  Parliament  armies,  that  it's 
believed  by  most  of  those  that  wer  there  present,  that 
if  the  Prince,  haveing  so  great  a  body  of  horse  inteire, 
had  made  aue  onfall  that  night,  or  the  ensueing  morn- 
ing be-t)Tne,  he  had  carrj-ed  the  victoric  out  of  ther 
hands  ;  for  it's  certane,  by  the  morning's  light,  he  had 
rallyed  a  body  of  ten  thousand  men,  wherof  ther  waa 
neer  three  thousand  gallant  horse.  These,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  toune  and  garriioune  of  Yorke^  might 
have  done  much  to  have  recovered  the  victorj-,  for  the 
losse  of  this  battell  in  effect  lost  the  King  and  his  in- 
terest in  the  three  kingdomes;  his  Majestie  never 
being  able  eftir  this  to  make  head  in  the  North,  but 
lost  his  garrisons  every  day. 

"As  for  Generall  Lesselie,  in  the  beginning  of  this 
flight  haveing  that  part  of  the  army  quite  brocken, 
whare  he  had  placed  himself,  by  the  valour  of  the 
Prince,  he  imagined  and  was  conferraed  by  the  opin- 
ione  of  others  then  upon  the  place  with  him.  that  the 
battell  was  inecoverably  lost,  seeing  they  wer  fleeing 
upon  all  hands ;  theirfore  they  humblie  entreated  hia 
excellence  to  reteir  and  wait  his  better  fortune,  which, 
without  farder  ad\yseing,  he  did ;  and  never  drew 
briflle  untill  he  came  thelenth  of  Leads,  having  ridden 
all  that  night  with  a  cloak  of  drap  de  lerrie  about  him, 
belonging  to  this  gentleman  of  whom  I  write,  then  in 
his  retinue,  with  many  other  officers  of  good  qualltie. 
It  was  neer  twelve  the  next  day  befoj  they  had  the 

VOL.  IV.  20 


306  APPENDIX    TO 

certanety  wlio  was  master  of  the  field,  when  at  length 
ther  arryves  ane  expresse,  sent  by  David  Lesselle,  to 
acquaint  the  general  they  had  obtained  a  most  glorious 
victory,  and  that  the  Prince,  with  his  brocken  troupes, 
was  fled  from  Yorke.  This  intelligence  was  somewhat 
amazeing  to  these  gentlemen  that  had  been  eye-wit- 
nesses to  the  disorder  of  the  armie  before  ther  retear- 
ing,  and  had  then  accompanyed  the  General  in  his 
flight ;  who,  being  much  wearyed  that  evening  of  the 
battell  with  ordering  of  his  armie,  and  now  quite  spent 
with  his  long  journey  in  the  night,  had  casten  himselfe 
doune  upon  a  bed  to  rest,  when  this  gentleman  come- 
ing  quyetly  into  his  chamber,  he  awoke,  and  hastily 
cryes  out,  *  Lievetennent-collonell,  what  newes  ? ' — 
*A11  is  safe,  may  it  please  your  Excellence ;  the  Parlia- 
ment's armie  hes  obtained  a  great  victory ; '  and  then 
delyvers  the  letter.  The  (ienerall,  upon  the  hearing 
of  this,  knocked  upon  his  breast,  and  sayes,  '  I  would 
to  God  I  had  dyed  upon  the  place  I '  and  then  opens 
the  letter,  which,  in  a  few  lines,  gave  ane  account  of 
the  victory,  and  in  the  close  pressed  his  speedy  re- 
turn e  to  the  armie,  which  he  did  the  next  day,  being 
accompanyed  some  mylles  back  by  this  gentleman, 
who  then  takes  his  leave  of  him,  and  receaved  at  part- 
ing many  expressions  of  kyndeuesse,  with  promises 
that  he  would  never  be  unmyndful  of  his  care  and  re- 
spect towaAls  him  ;  and  in  the  end  he  intreats  him  to 
present  his-  service  to  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances 
in  Scotland.  Thereftir  the  Generall  sets  forward  in  his 
journey  for  the  armie,  as  this  gentleman  did  for 
,  in  order  to  his  transportatione  for 
Scotland,  where  he  arryved  sex  dayes  eftir  the  fight 
of  Mestoune  Muir,  and  gave  the  fircst  true  account  and 


ROKEBY.  307 

dct^riptione  of  that  great  battell,  wherin  the  Cove- 
nanters then  gloryed  soe  much,  that  thev  impiously 
boasted  the  Lord  had  now  signally  appeared  for  his 
cause  and  people  ;  it  being  ordinary  for  them,  dureing 
the  whole  time  of  this  warre,  to  attribute  the  greatnea 
of  their  success  to  the  goodnes  aud  justice  of  ther 
cause,  untill  Divine  Justice  trysted  them  with  some 
crosse  dispensatione,  and  then  you  might  have  heard 
this  language  from  them,  '  That  it  pleases  the  Lord 
to  give  his  oune  the  heavyest  end  of  the  tree  to  bear, 
that  the  saints  and  the  people  of  God  must  still  be 
sufferers  while  they  are  here  away,  that  the  malignant 
party  was  God's  rod  to  punish  them  for  ther  unthank- 
fiillnessc,  which  in  the  end  he  will  cast  into  the  fire ;  * 
with  a  thousand  other  expressions  and  scripture  cita- 
tions, prophanely  and  blasphemously  uttered  by  them. 
to  palliate  ther  villainie  and  rebellion." — Memorie  of 
the  Somervilles.     Edin.  1815. 


Note  D. 

How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar. — P.  87. 

That  this  is  a  general  superstition,  is  well  known  to 
%I1  who  have  been  on  ship-board,  or  who  have  con- 
versed with  seamen.  The  most  formidable  whistler 
that  I  remember  to  have  met  with  was  the  apparition 
of  a  certain  ^Mrs.  Leakey,  who,  about  1636,  resided, 
we  are  told,  at  Mynehead,  La  Somerset,  where  her 
©nly  SOD  drove  a  considerable  trade  between  that  port 
%nd  Waterford,  and  was  owner  of  several  vessels. 
This  old  gentlewoman  was  of  a  so<:ial  dispositi(  u,  and 


308  AITENDIX    TO 

SO  acceptable  to  her  friends,  that  they  used  to  say  to 
her  and  to  each  other,  it  were  pity  such  an  excellent 
good-natured  old  lady  should  die ;  to  which  she  was 
wont  to  reply,  that  whatever  pleasure  they  might  find 
in  her  company  just  now,  they  would  not  greatly  like 
to  see  or  converse  with  her  alter  deatli,  which,  nevei^ 
theless,  she  was  apt  to  think  might  happen.  Accord- 
ingly, after  her  death  and  funeral,  she  began  to  appear 
to  various  persons  by  night  and  by  noon-day,  in  her 
own  house,  in  the  town  and  fields,  at  sea  and  upon 
shore.  So  far  had  she  departed  from  her  former  ur- 
banity, that  she  is  recorded  to  have  kicked  a  doctor 
of  medicine  for  his  impolite  negligence  in  omitting  to 
hand  her  over  a  stile.  It  was  also  her  humour  to 
appear  upon  the  quay,  and  call  for  a  boat.  But 
especially  so  soon  as  any  of  her  son's  ships  approached 
the  harbour,  "  this  ghost  would  appear  in  the  same 
garb  and  likeness  as  when  she  was  alive,  and,  standing 
at  the  mainmast,  would  blow  with  a  whistle,  and  though 
it  were  never  so  great  a  calm,  yet  immediately  there 
would  arise  a  most  dreadful  storm,  that  would  breeik, 
wreck,  and  drown  ship  and  goods."  When  she  had 
thus  pro{.'eeded  until  her  son  had  neither  credit  to 
freight  a  vessel,  nor  could  have  procured  men  to  sail 
it,  she  began  to  attack  the  persons  of  his  family,  and 
actually  strangled  their  only  child  in  the  cradle.  The 
rest  of  her  story,  showing  how  the  spectre  looked  over 
the  shoulder  of  her  daughter-in-law  while  dressing  her 
hair  at  a  looking-glass,  and  how  Mrs.  Leakey  the 
younger  took  courage  to  address  her,  and  how  the 
beldam  despatched  her  to  an  Irish  prelate,  famous  for 
his  crimes  and  misfortunes,  to  exhort  him  to  rcpen- 
t;ince,  and  to  apprise  him  that  otherwise  he  would  be 


ROKEBY.  3l>'J 

Hanged,  and  how  the  bishop  was  satisfied  with  reply- 
ing, that  if  he  was  born  to  be  hanged,  be  should  not 
be  drowned  ; — all  these,  with  many  more  particulars, 
may  be  found  at  the  end  of  one  of  Jolm  Dunton's 
publications,  called  Athenianism,  London,  1710,  where 
the  tale  is  engrossed  under  the  title  of  The  Apparition 
Evidence. 


Note  E. 

The  Demon  Frigate.—?.  88. 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  well-known  nautical  super- 
Btition  concerning  a  fantastic  vessel,  called  by  sailors 
the  Flying  Dutchman,  and  supposed  to  be  seen  about 
the  latitude  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  She  is  dis- 
tinguished from  earthly  vessels  by  bearing  a  press  of 
sail  when  all  others  are  unable,  from  stress  of  weather, 
to  show  an  inch  of  canvass.  The  cause  of  her  wander- 
ing is  not  altogether  certain ;  but  the  general  account 
is,  that  she  was  originally  a  vessel  loaded  with  great 
wealth,  on  board  of  which  some  horrid  act  of  murder 
and  piracy  had  been  committed ;  that  the  plague 
broke  out  among  the  wicked  crew  who  had  perpetrated 
the  ci-ime,  and  that  they  sailed  in  vain  from  port  to 
port,  offering,  as  the  price  of  shelter,  the  whole  of 
their  ill-gotten  wealth  ;  that  they  were  excluded  from 
every  harbour,  for  fear  of  the  contagion  which  was 
devouring  them ;  and  that,  as  a  punishment  of  their 
crimes,  the  apparition  of  the  ship  still  continues  to 
haunt  those  seas  in  which  the  catastrophe  took  place, 
and  is  considered  by  the  mariners  as  the  worst  of  all 
possible  omens. 


310  APPENDIX   TO 

My  late  lamented  friend,  Dr.  John  Leyden,  has  in- 
troduced this  phenomenon  into  his  Scenes  of  Infancy, 
imputing,  with  poetical  ingenuity,  the  dreadful  judg- 
ment to  the  fii-st  ship  which  commenced  the  slave- 
trade  :  — 

"  Stout  was  the  ship,  from  Benin's  palmy  shore 
That  first  the  weight  of  barter'd  captives  bore; 
Bedimm'd  with  blood,  the  sun  with  shrinking  beams 
Beheld  her  bounding  o'er  the  ocean  streams; 
But,  ere  the  moon  her  silver  horns  had  rear'd 
Amid  the  crew  the  speckled  plague  appear'd. 
Faint  and  despairing,  on  their  watery  bier. 
To  eveiy  friendly  shore  the  sailors  steer; 
Repell'd  from  port  to  port,  they  sue  in  rain, 
And  track  with  slow  unsteady  sail  the  main. 
Where  ne'er  the  bright  and  buoyant  wave  is  seen 
To  streak  with  wandering  foam  the  sea-weeds  green, 
Towers  the  tall  mast  a  lone  and  leafless  tree. 
Till  self-impell'd  amid  the  waveless-sea ; 
Where  summer  breezes  ne'er  were  heard  to  sing, 
Nor  hovering  snow-birds  spread  the  downy-wing, 
Fix'd  as  a  rock  amid  the  boundless  plain, 
The  yellow  stream  pollutes  the  stagnant  main, 
Till  far  through  night  the  funeral  flames  aspire, 
As  the  red  lightning  smites  the  ghastly  pyre. 

Still  doom'd  by  fate  on  weltering  billows  roll'd, 
Along  the  deep  their  restless  course  to  hold. 
Scenting  the  storm,  the  shadowy  sailors  guide 
The  prow  with  sails  opposed  to  wind  and  tide; 
The  Spectre  Ship,  in  livid  glimpsing  light. 
Glares  baleful  on  the  shuddering  watch  at  night, 
Unblest  of  God  and  man !— Till  time  shall  end. 
Its  -slew  strange  horror  to  the  storm  shall  lend." 


BOKEBT.  311 


Note  F. 


BtU  chief  arose  his  victor  pride^     . 

When  that  brave  Marshal  fought  and  died. — P.  167. 

The  chief  victoi^  which  TjTone  obtained  over 
the  English  was  in  a  battle  fought  near  Black- 
water,  while  he  besieged  a  fort  garrisoned  by  the 
English,  which  commanded  the  passes  into  his  coun- 
try'. 

"  This  captain  and  his  few  warders  did  with  no  less 
courage  suffer  hunger,  and,  having  eaten  the  few 
horses'  they  had,  Uved  vpon  hearbes  growing  in  the 
ditches  and  wals,  suffering  all  extremities,  till  the  lord- 
lieutenant,  in  the  moneth  of  August,  sent  Sir  Henry 
Bagnal,  marshall  of  Ireland,  with  the  most  choice 
companies  of  foot  and  horse-troopes  of  the  English 
army  to  victual  this  fort,  and  to  raise  the  rebels  siege. 
When  the  English  entered  the  place  and  thicke  woods 
beyond  Armagh,  on  the  east  side,  Tj-rone  (with  all 
the  rebels  assembled  to  him)  pricked  forward  with 
rage,  enuy,  and  settled  rancour  against  the  marshall, 
assayled  the  English,  and  turning  his  full  force  against 
the  marshall's  person,  had  the  successe  to  kill  him, 
valiantly  fighting  among  the  thickest  of  the  rebels. 
Whereupon  the  English  being  dismayed  with  his  death, 
the  rebels  obtained  a  great  victory  against  them.  I 
terme  it  great,  since  the  English,  from  their  first 
arriual  in  that  kingdome,  neuer  had  received  so  great 
an  ouerthrow  as  this,  commonly  called  the  Defeat  of 
Blackewater ;   thirteene  valiant   captaines   and    1 500 


312  APPENDIX     TO 

common  souldiers  (whereof  many  were  of  the  old  com- 
panies which  had  serued  in  Brittany  vnder  General 
Norreys)  were  slain  in  the  field.  The  yielding  of  the 
fort  of  Blackewater  folloAved  this  disaster,  when  the 
assaulted  guard  saw  no  hope  of  relief;  but  especially 
ypon  messages  sent  to  Captain  Williams  from  our 
broken  forces,  retired  to  Armagh,  professing  that  all 
their  safety  depended  vpon  his  j-ielding  the  fort  into 
the  hands  of  Tyrone,  without  which  danger  Captaino 
Williams  professed  that  no  want  or  miserie  should 
have  induced  him  thereunto." — Fynes  Moryson's 
Itinerary.     London,  1617,  fol.  part  ii.  p.  24. 

Tyrone  is  said  to  have  entertained  a  pei-sonal  ani- 
mosity against  the  knight-marshal,  Sir  Henry  Bagnal, 
whom  he  accused  of  detaining  the  letters  which  he 
sent  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  explanatory  of  his  conduct, 
and  oiFering  terms  of  submission.  The  river,  called 
by  the  English,  Blackwater,  is  termed  in  Irish,  Avon- 
Duff,  which  has  the  same  signification.  Both  names 
are  mentioned  by  Spenser  in  his  "  Marriage  of  the 
Thames  and  the  Medway."  But  I  understand  that 
his  verses  relate  not  to  the  Blackwater  of  Ulster, 
but  to  a  river  of  the  same  name  in  the  south  of  Ire- 
land:— 

"  Swift  Avon-Duflf,  which  of  the  Englishmen 
Is  called  Blackwater  " 


ROKEBY.  315 

Note  G. 
TTie  Tanist  he  to  great  O'Neale.—F.  167. 

"  Eudox.  What  is  that  which  you  call  Tanist  and 
Tanistrj'  ?  These  be  names  and  terms  never  heard 
of  nor  known  to  us. 

"  hen.  It  is  a  custom  amongst  all  the  Irish,  that 
presently  after  the  death  of  one  of  their  chiefe  lords 
or  captaines,  they  doe  presently  assemble  themselves 
to  a  place  generally  appointed  and  knowne  unto 
them,  to  choose  another  in  his  stead,  where  they  do 
nominate  and  elect,  for  the  most  part  not  the  eldest 
Sonne,  nor  any  of  the  children  of  the  lord  deceased, 
but  the  next  to  him  in  blood,  that  is,  the  eldest  and 
worthiest,  as  commonly  the  next  brother  unto  him,  if 
he  have  any,  or  the  next  cousin,  or  so  forth,  as  any  is 
elder  in  that  kindred  or  sept;  and  then  next  to  them 
doe  they  choose  the  next  of  the  blood  to  be  Tanist, 
who  shall  next  succeed  him  in  the  said  captainr}-,  if  he 
live  thereunto. 

'•  Eudox.  Do  they  not  use  any  ceremony  in  thia 
election,  for  all  barbarous  nations  are  commonly  great 
observers  of  ceremonies  and  superstitious  rites  V 

"  Iren.  They  use  to  place  him  that  shall  be  their 
captaine  upon  a  stone,  always  reserved  to  that  pur- 
pose, and  placed  commonly  upon  a  hill.  In  some  of 
which  I  have  seen  formed  and  engraven  a  foot,  which 
they  say  was  the  measure  of  their  first  captaine'sfoot* 
whereon  hee  standing,  receives  an  oath  to  preserve 
all  the  ancient  former  customes  of  the  countrey  invio- 


SI 4  APPENDIX    TO 

lable,  and  to  deliver  up  tlie  succession  peaceably  to  his 
Tanist,  and  then  hath  a  wand  delivered  unto  him  by 
some  whose  proper  office  that  is  :  after  which,  descend- 
ing from  the  stone,  he  turneth  himself  round,  thrice 
forwards  and  thrice  backwards. 

"  Eudox.  But  how  is  the  Tanist  chosen '? 

"  Iren.  They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot  upon  the 
stone,  and  receiveth  the  like  oath  that  the  captaine 
did." — Spenser's  View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud 
Works,  Lond.  1805,  8vo,  vol.  viii.  p.  306. 

The  Tanist,  therefore,  of  O'Neale,  was  the  heir- 
apparent  of  his  power.  This  kind  of  succession  ap- 
pears also  to  have  regulated,  in  very  remote  times,  the 
succession  to  the  crown  of  Scotland.  It  would  have 
been  imprudent,  if  not  impossible,  to  have  asserted  a 
minor's  right  of  succession  in  those  stormy  days,  when 
the  principles  of  policy  were  summed  up  in  my  friend 
Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines : — 

"  the  good  old  rule 


Sufficeth  them ;  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  should  keep  who  can." 


Note  H. 

IRs  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread,  ^'c. — P.  169. 

There  is  here  an  attempt  to  describe  the  ancient 
Irish  dress,  of  which  a  poet  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day 
has  given  us  the  following  particulars : — 

"  I  marvailde  in  my  mynde, 
and  thereupon  did  muse, 


KOKEBY.  ^^^ 

To  see  a  bride  of  lieavenlie  hewo 

an  ouglie  fere  to  chuse. 
This  bride  it  is  the  soile, 

the  bridegroome  is  the  kame. 
With  writhed  glibbes,  like  wicked  sprits, 

with  visage  rough  and  stearne ; 
With  seniles  upon  their  poalles, 

instead  of  civill  cappes ; 
With  speares  in  hand,  and  swordes  besydea, 

to  beare  off  after  clappes; 
With  jackettes  long  and  large, 

which  shroud  simplicitie, 
Though  spitfull  dartes  which  they  do  beare 

importe  iniquitie. 
Their  shirtes  be  very  strange, 

not  reaching  past  the  thie ; 
With  pleates  ou  pleates  thei  pleated  are 

as  thick  as  pleates  may  lye. 
Whose  sleaves  hang  trailing  doune 

almost  unto  the  shoe ; 
And  with  a  mantell  commonlie 

the  Irish  karne  do  goe. 
Now  some  amongst  the  reste 

doe  use  another  weede ; 
A  coate  I  meane,  of  strange  devise, 

which  fancy  first  did  breade. 
His  skirts  be  very  shorte, 

with  pleates  set  thick  about, 
And  Irish  trouzes  moe  to  put 
their  strange  pro tac tours  out." 
Debbick'b  Image  of  Ireland,  apud  Someks'  Tracts. 
Edin.  1809,  4to,  vol.  i.  p.  585. 

Some  curious  wooden  engravings  accompany  thii 
pucm,  from  which  it  would  seem,  that  the  ancient 
Irish  dress  was  (the  bonnet  excepted)  very  similar  to 
that  of  the   Scottish  Highlandei-s.     The   wart   of  a 


316  APPENDIX    TO 

covering  on  the  head  was  supplied  by  the  mode  of 
plaiting  and  arranging  the  hair,  which  was  called  the 
glibbe.  These  glibbes,  according  to  Spenser,  were  fit 
marks  for  a  thief,  since,  when  he  wished  to  disguise 
himself,  he  could  either  cut  it  off  entirely,  or  so  pull 
it  over  his  eyes  as  to  render  it  very  hard  to  recognize 
him.  This,  however,  is  nothing  to  the  reprobation 
with  which  the  same  poet  regards  that  favourite  part 
of  the  Irish  dress,  the  mantle. 

"  It  is  a  fit  house  for  an  outlaw,  a  meet  bed  for  a 
rebel,  and  an  apt  cloke  for  a  thief  First,  the  outlaw 
being  for  his  many  crimes  and  villanyes  banished  from 
the  townes  and  houses  of  honest  men,  and  wandring 
in  waste  places  far  from  danger  of  law,  maketh  his 
mantle  his  house,  and  under  it  covereth  himself  from 
the  wrath  of  heaven,  from  the  offence  of  the  earth, 
and  from  the  sight  of  men.  When  it  raineth,  it  is 
his  penthouse ;  when  it  bloweth,  it  is  his  tent ; 
when  it  freezeth,  it  is  his  tabernacle.  In  summer 
he  can  wear  it  loose,  in  winter  he  can  wrap  it 
close  ;  at  all  times  he  can  use  it,  never  heavy,  never 
cumbersome.  Likewise  for  a  rebel  it  is  as  service- 
able ;  for  in  his  warre  that  he  maketh  (if  at  least  it 
deserve  the  name  of  warre),  when  he  still  flyeth 
from  his  foe,  and  lurketh  in  the  thicke  woods  and 
straite  passages,  waiting  for  advantages,  it  is  his  bed, 
yea,  and  almost  his  household  stuff.  For  the  wood  is 
his  house  against  all  weathers,  and  his  mantle  is  his 
couch  to  sleep  in.  Therein  he  wrappeth  himself 
•X)und,  and  coucheth  himself  strongly  against  the 
Tnats,  which,  in  that  country,  doe  more  annoy  the 
naked  rebels  while  they  keep  the  woods,  and  do« 
more    sharply    wound  them,   than   all   then-   enemies 


ROKEBY.  ol7 

iwords  or  speares,  wLich  can  seldom  come  nigh  them : 
yea,  and  oftentimes  their  mantle  serveth  them  when 
they  are  neere  driven,  being  vrrapped  about  their  left 
arme,  instead  of  a  target,  for  it  is  hard  to  cut  through 
with  a  sword ;  besides,  it  is  light  to  beare,  light  to 
throw  away,  and  being  (as  they  commonly  are)  naked, 
it  is  to  them  all  in  all.  Lastly,  for  a  thiefe  it  is  so 
handsome  as  it  may  seem  it  was  first  invented  for 
him  ;  for  under  it  he  may  cleanly  convey  any  fit  pil- 
lagf.  that  cometh  handsomely  in  his  way,  and  when  he 
goeth  abroad  in  the  night  in  freebooting,  it  is  his  best 
and  surest  friend  ;  for  lying,  as  they  often  do,  two  or 
three  nights  together  abroad  to  watch  for  their  booty, 
with  that  they  can  prettily  shroud  themselves  under 
a  bush  or  bankside  till  they  may  conveniently  do  their 
errand ;  and  when  all  is  over,  he  can  in  his  mantle 
passe  through  any  town  or  company,  being  close- 
hooded  over  his  head,  as  he  useth,  from  knowledge  of 
any  to  whom  he  is  indangered.  Besides  this,  he  or 
any  man  els  that  is  disposed  to  mischief  or  villany, 
may,  under  his  mantle,  goe  privily  armed  without  sus- 
picion of  any,  carry  his  head-piece,  his  skean,  or  pistol, 
if  he  please,  to  be  always  in  readiness." — Spenser's 
View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud  Works^  ut  supra, 
viii.  3G7. 

The  javelins,  or  darts,  of  the  Irish,  which  they 
threw  with  great  dexterity,  appear,  from  one  of  the 
prints  already  mentioned,  to  have  been  about  four  feet 
ong,  with  a  strong  steel  head  and  thick  knotted  shaft 


318  APPENDIX    TO 

Note  I. 
Shane-Dymas  wild. — P.  1 78. 

This  Shane-Dymas,  or  John  the  Wanton,  held  the 
title  and  power  of  O'Neale  in  the  earlier  p;irt  of 
Elizabeth's  reign,  against  whom  he  rebelled  lepeat 
edly. 

"  This  chieftain  is  handed  down  to  us  as  the  most 
proud  and  profligate  man  on  earth.  He  was  immod- 
erately addicted  to  women  and  wine.  He  is  said  to 
have  had  200  tons  of  wine  at  once  in  his  cellar  at 
Dandram,  but  usquebaugh  was  his  favourite  liquor. 
He  spared  neither  age  nor  condition  of  the  fair  sex. 
Altho'  so  illiterate  that  he  could  not  write,  he  was  not 
destitute  of  address ;  his  understanding  was  strong, 
and  his  courage  darincj.  He  had  600  men  for  his 
guard;  4000  foot,  1000  horse  for  the  field.  He 
claimed  superiority  over  all  the  lords  of  Ulster,  and 
called  himself  king  thereof.  When  commissioners 
were  sent  to  treat  with  him,  he  said,  '  That,  tho'  the 
Queen  were  his  sovereign  lady,  he  never  made  peace 
with  her  hut  at  her  lodging ;  that  she  had  made  a  wise 
Earl  of  Macartymore,  but  that  he  kept  as  good  a  man 
as  he ;  that  he  cared  not  for  so  mean  a  title  as  Earl ; 
that  his  blood  and  power  were  better  than  the  best ; 
that  his  ancestors  were  Kings  of  Ulster ;  and  that  he 
would  give  place  to  none.'  His  kinsman,  the  Earl  of 
Kildare,  having  persuaded  him  of  the  folly  of  contend- 
ing with  the  crown  of  England,  he  resolved  to  attend 
the  Queen,  but  in  a  style  suited  to  his  princely  dignity 


ROKEBY.  S 1 9 

He  appeared  in  London  with  a  magnificent  train  of 
Irish  Galloglasses,  arrayed  in  the  richest  habilimenta 
of  their  conntry,  their  heads  bare,  their  hair  flowing 
on  their  shoulders,  with  their  long  and  open  sleeves 
dyed  with  saffron.  Thus  dressed  and  surcharged  with 
military  harness,  and  armed  with  battle-axes,  they 
afforded  an  astonishing  spectacle  to  the  citizens,  who 
regarded  them  as  the  intruders  of  some  verj-  distant 
part  of  the  globe.  But  at  Court  his  versatility  now 
prevailed ;  his  title  to  the  sovereignty  of  Tyrone  was 
pleaded  from  English  laws  and  Irish  institutions,  and 
his  allegations  were  so  specious,  that  the  Queen  dis- 
missed him  with  presents  and  assurances  of  favour. 
In  England  this  transaction  wj^s  looked  on  as  the 
hmniliation  of  a  repenting  rebel;  in  Tyrone  it  was 
considered  as  a  treaty  of  peace  between  two  poten- 
tates."— Camden's  Br'utania^  by  Gough.  Lend.  1806, 
fol.  vol.  iv.  p.  442. 

When  reduced  to  extremity  by  the  English,  and 
forsaken  by  his  allies,  this  Shane-IK-mas  fled  to 
Clandeboy,  then  occupied  by  a  colony  of  Scottish 
Highlanders  of  the  family  of  MacDonnell.  He  was  at 
first  courteously  received  :  but  by  degrees  they  began 
to  quarrel  about  the  slaughter  of  some  of  their  friends 
whom  Shane-Dymas  had  put  to  death,  and  advancing 
from  words  to  deeds,  fell  upon  him  with  their  broad- 
swords, and  cut  him  to  pieces.  After  his  death  a  law 
was  made  that  none  should  prestmie  to  takf  tJae  name 
%nd  title  of  O'Xeale. 


32(^  APPENDIX    TO 


Note  K. 


his  page,  the  next  degree 


In  that  old  time  to  chivalry. — P.  180. 

Originally,  the  order  of  chivalry  embraced  t'^ree 
ranks: — 1.  The  Page;  2.  The  Squire;  3.  The  Knight; 
— a  gradation  which  seems  to  have  been  imitated  in 
the  mystery  of  freemasonry.  But,  before  the  reign 
of  Charles  I.  the  custom  of  serving  as  a  squire  had 
fallen  into  disuse,  though  the  order  of  the  page  was 
still,  to  a  certain  degree,  in  observance.  This  state 
of  servitude  was  so  far  from  inferring  any  thing  de- 
grading, that  it  was  considered  as  the  regular  school 
for  acquiring  every  quality  necessary  for  future  dis- 
tinction. The  proper  nature,  and  the  decay  of  the 
institution,  are  pointed  out  by  old  Ben  Jonson,  with 
his  own  forcible  moral  colouring.  The  dialogue  occurs 
between  Lovcll,  "  a  compleat  gentleman,  a  soldier,  and 
a  scholar,  known  to  have  been  page  to  the  old  Lord 
Beaufort,  and  so  to  have  followed  him  in  the  French 
wars,  after  companion  of  his  studies,  and  left  guardian 
to  his  son,"  and  the  facetious  Goodstock,  host  of  the 
Light  Heart.  Lovel  had  oliered  to  take  Goodstock's 
eon  for  his  page,  which  the  latter,  in  reference  to  the 
recent  abuse  of  the  establishment,  declares  as  "  a  des- 
perate course  of  hfe  : " — 

*^  Lovell.  Call  you  that  desperate,  which  by  a  line 
Of  institution,  from  our  ancestors 
Hath  been  derived  down  to  us,  and  received 
In  :i  succession,  for  the  noblest  way 


EOKEBT.  321 

Of  breeding  u,i  our  youth,  in  letters,  nrms, 
Fair  mien,  discourses,  civil  exerci<5e. 
And  all  the  blaron  of  a  gentleman? 
Where  can  he  learn  to  vault,  U.>  ride,  to  fence, 
To  move  his  body  gracefuller;  to  speak 
His  lanfTuage  purer;  or  to  tune  his  mind, 
Or  manners,  more  to  the  harmony  of  nature, 
Thau  in  the  nurseries  of  nobility  ? 

"  Ilost.  Ay,  that  was  when  the  nursery's  self  waa  noble, 
And  only  virtue  made  it,  not  the  market. 
That  titles  were  not  vented  at  the  drum. 
Or  oommou  outcry.     Goodness  gave  the  greatness, 
And  greatness  worship :  everv  house  became 
An  academy  of  honour;  and  those  parts 
We  see  departed,  in  the  practice,  now. 
Quite  from  the  institutiou. 

Lovell  Why  do  you  say  so? 
Or  think  so  enviously?     Do  they  not  still 
Learn  there  the  Centaur's  skill,  the  art  of  Thrace, 
To  ride  ?  or,  Pollux'  mystery,  to  fence  ? 
The  Pyrrhic  gestures,  both  to  dance  and  spring 
In  armour,  to  be  active  for  the  wars? 
To  study  figures,  numbers,  and  proportions, 
May  yield  them  great  in  counsels,  aud  the  arts 
Grave  Nestor  aud  the  wise  Ulysses  practised, 
To  make  their  English  sweet  upon  their  tongue. 
As  reverend  Chaucer  says? 

"  Host.  Sir,  you  mistake; 
To  play  Sir  Pandarus,  my  copy  hath  it, 
Aud  carry  messages  to  Madame  Cressid; 
Instead  of  backing  the  brave  steed  o'  moruings 
To  court  the  chambermaid;  and  for  a  leap 
0'  the  vaulting  horse,  to  ply  the  vaulting  house: 
Fur  exercise  of  arms,  a  bale  of  d'ce, 
Or  two  or  three  packs  of  cards  to  show  the  cheat, 
A-Md  nimbleness  of  hand;  mistake  a  cloak 
From  my  lord's  back, and  pawn  it;  ease  his  pocket 
Of  a  superfluous  watch-,  or  geld  a  jewel 
VOL.    IV.  21 


322  APPENDIX    TO 

Of  an  odd  stone  or  so;  twinge  three  or  four  buttons 

From  off  my  lady's  gown :  These  are  the  arts, 

Or  seven  liberal  deadly  sciences 

Of  pagery,  or  rather  paganism, 

As  the  tides  run ;  to  which  if  he  apply  him, 

He  may  perhaps  take  a  degree  at  Tyburn 

A  year  the  earlier;  come  to  read  a  lecture 

Upon  Aquinas  at  St.  Thomas  a  Watering's, 

And  so  go  forth  a  laureat  in  hemp  circle!" 

Ben  Jon  son's  New  Inn,  Act  I.  Soene  HI 


Note  L. 

Rokebifs  lords  of  martial  fame, 

I  can  count  them  name  by  name. — P.  208. 

The  following  brief  pedigree  of  this  very  ancient 
and  once  powerful  family,  was  kindly  supplied  to  the 
author  by  Mr.  Rokeby  of  Northamptonshire,  de- 
scended of  the  ancient  Barons  of  Rokeby — 

"  Pedigree  of  the  house  of  Rokehy. 

1.  Sir  Alex.  Rokeby,  Knt,  married  to  Sir  Hump.  Liftle's  * 

daughter. 

2.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Tho.  Lumley's  daughter. 

3.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Tho.  Hubboru's  daughter. 

4.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Biggot's  daughter. 

5.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  de  Melsass'  daughte! 

of  Bennet-Hall  in  Holderness. 
0.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Sir  Brian  Stapletou's  daughter  of 

Weighill. 
7    Sir  Thos,  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Su*  Ralph  Ury's  daughter.* 
B.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  daughter  of  Mansfield,  heir  of 

Morton.* 

»  Lisle.  2  Temp.  Edw.  2di.  «  Temp.  Edw.  3tiL 


iiOKEur.  323 

9.  Sir  Tho   Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Stroode's  daughter  and  heir. 

10.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Jas.  Strangwayes'  daugh- 

ter. 

11.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeb}',  Kiit.  to  Sir  Jolin  Hotham's  daughter. 

12.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Danby  of  Yafforth's  daughter  and 

heir.l 

13.  Tho.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Rob.  Constable's  daughter  of  Cliff, 

serjt.  at  law. 

14.  Christopher  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Lasscells  of  Brackenburgh'3 

daughter.3 
16.  Thos.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Thweng. 

16.  Sir  Thonaas  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Lawsou's  daugh- 

ter of  Brough. 

17.  Frans.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Faucett's  daughter,  citizen  of 

London. 

18.  Thos.   Rokeby,  Esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Wickliffe   of 

Gales. 

High  Sheriffs  of  Yorkshire. 

1337.  11  Edw.  3.  Ralph  Hastings  and  Thos.  de  Rokeby. 

1343.  17  Edw.  3.  Thos.  de  Rokeby,  pro.  sept,  annis. 

1358.  25  Edw.  3.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  Justiciary  of  Ireland 

for  six  years ;  died  at  the  castle  of  Kilka. 
1407.  8   Hen.   4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles,  defeated  and  slew  the 

Duke  of  Northumberland  at  tlie  Battle 

of  Bramham  Moor. 
1411.  12  Hen.  4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles. 

»4b6 Thomas  Rokeby,  Esq. 

1539 Robert  Holgate,  Bish.  of  Laudaff,  afterwards 

P.  of  York,  Ld.  President  of  the  Council 

for  the  Preservation  of  Peace  in  the 

North. 


1  Temp.  Henr.  7mi,  and  from  him  is -the  House  of  Skyers, 
of  a  fourth  brother. 

■•'  From  him  is  the  House  of  Hotham,  and  of  the  second 
orother  that  had  issue. 


824  APPENDIX   TO 

1564.  6  EHz  Thomas  Yoiinge,  Archbishop  of  Yorke,  Ld 

President. 
30  Hen.  8.  Tho.  Rokeby,  LL.  D.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jn.  Kokeby,  LL.  D.  one  of  the  Council 
1572.  15  Eliz.        Henry  Hastings,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  Ld 
President. 
Jo.  Kokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  LL.  D.  ditto. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Secretaries. 
1674.  17  Eliz.        Jo.  Rokeby,  IPrecentor  of  York. 

7  Will.  3.  Sir  J.  Rokeby,  Knt.  one  of  the  Justices  of 
the  King's  Bench. 

The  family  of  De  Rokeby  came  over  with  the  Conqueror. 
The  old  motto  belonging  to  the  family  is  In  Bivio  Dexira. 
The  arms,  argent,  chevron  sable,  between  three  rooks  proper. 

There  is  somewhat  more  to  be  found  in  our  family  in  the 
Scottish  History  about  the  affairs  of  Dun-Bretton  town,  but 
what  it  is,  and  in  what  time,  1  know  not,  nor  can  have 
convenient  leisure  to  search.  Bui  Parson  Blackwood, 
the  Scottish  chaplain  to  the  Lord  of  Shrewsbury,  re- 
cited to  me  once  a  piece  of  a  Scottish  song,  wherein  was 
mentioned,  that  William  VVallis,  the  gi-eat  deliverer  of  the 
Scots  from  the  English  bondage,  should,  at  Dun-Bretton,  have 
been  brought  up  under  a  Rokeby,  captain  then  of  the  place ; 
and  as  he  walked  on  a  cliff,  should  thrust  him  on  a  sudden 
into  the  sea,  and  thereby  have  gotten  that  hold,  which,  I  think, 
was  about  the  33d  of  Edw.  I.  or  before.  Thus,  leavbig  our  an- 
cestors of  record,  we  must  also  with  them  leave  the  Chronicle 
of  Malmesbury  Abbey,  called  Eulogium  Historiarum,  out  of 
which  Mr.  Leland  reporteth  this  history,  and  coppy  down 
unwritten  story,  the  which  have  yet  the  testimony  of  later 
Umes,  and  the  fresh  memory  of  men  j-et  alive,  for  their  war- 
rant and  creditt,  of  whom  I  have  learned  it,  that  in  K.  Henry 
the  7th's  reign,  one  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  was  owner  of  Morton, 
and  I  guess  that  this  was  he  that  deceived  the  fryars  of 
Richmond  with  his  felon  swine,  on  which  a  jargon  was 
made  " 


ROKEBT.  320 

rbe  above  Is  a  quotation  from  a  manuscript  written 
by  Ralph  Rokeby  ;  when  he  lived  is  uncertain. 

To  what  metrical  Scottish  tradition  Parson  Black- 
wood alluded,  it  would  be  now  in  vain  to  enquire. 
But  iu  Blind  Harr)''s  History'  of  Sir  William  Wallace, 
we  nnd  a  legend  of  one  Rukbie,  whom  he  makes 
keeper  of  Stirling  Castle  under  the  English  usurpa- 
tion, and  whom  Wallace  slays  with  his  own  hand  : — 

"  In  the  great  press  Wallace  and  Rukbie  met 
With  his  good  sword  a  stroke  upon  him  set; 
Derfly  to  death  the  old  Rukbie  he  drave, 
But  his  two  sons  escaped  among  the  lave." 

These  sons,  according  to  the  romantic  Minstrel,  sur- 
rendered the  castle  on  conditions,  and  went  back  to 
England,  but  returned  to  Scotland  in  the  days  of 
Bruce,  when  one  of  them  became  again  keeper  of 
Stirling  Castle.  Immediately  after  this  achievement 
follows  another  engagement,  between  Wallace  and 
those  Western  Highlanders  who  embraced  the  English 
interest,  at  a  pass  in  Glendonchart,  where  many  were 
precipitated  into  the  lake  over  a  precipice.  Tliese 
circumstances  may  have  been  confused  in  the  narra- 
tive of  Parson  Blackwood,  or  in  the  recollection  of 
Mr.  Rokeby. 

In  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  there  is  men 
tioned,  among  the  English  warriors,  "  Sir  Raff  the 
ryche  Rugbe,"  which  may  apply  to  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby, 
the  tenth  baron  in  the  pedigree.  The  more  modem 
copy  of  the  ballad  runs  thus: — 

"  Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  ther  was  slain. 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount." 

This  would  lather  seem  to  relate  to  one  of  the  Nevillea 


326  APPENDIX    TO 

Df  Raby.     But,  as  the  whole  ballad  is  romantic,  accu- 
racy is  not  to  be  looked  for. 


Note  M. 
■The  Felon  Sow.— P.  208. 


Ilie  ancient  minstrels  had  a  comic  as  well  as  a 
eerious  strain  of  romance ;  and  although  the  examples 
of  the  latter  are  by  far  the  most  numerous,  they  are, 
perhaps,  the  less  valuable.  The  comic  romance  was 
a  sort  of  parody  upon  the  usual  subjects  of  minstrel 
poetry.  If  the  latter  described  deeds  of  heroic 
achievement,  and  the  events  of  the  battle,  the  tourney 
and  the  chase,  the  former,  as  in  the  Tournament  of 
Tottenham,  introduced  a  set  of  clowns  debating  in  the 
field,  with  all  the  assumed  circ  umstances  of  chivalry  ; 
or,  as  in  the  Hunting  of  the  Hare,  (see  Weber's 
Metrical  Romances,  vol.  iii.,)  persons  of  the  same 
description  following  the  chase,  with  all  the  grievous 
mistakes  and  blunders  incident  to  such  unpractised 
sportsmen.  The  idea,  therefore,  of  Don  Quixote's 
frenzy,  although  inimitably  embodied  and  brought 
out,  was  not,  perhaps,  in  the  abstract,  altogether 
original.  One  of  the  very  best  of  these  mock  ro- 
mances, and  which  has  no  small  portion  of  comic 
humour,  is  the  Hunting  of  the  Felon  Sow  of  Rokeby 
by  the  Friars  of  Richmond.  Ralph  Rokeby,  who 
(for  the  jest's  sake  apparently)  bestowed  this  intrac- 
table animal  on  the  convent  of  Richmond,  seems  to 
have  flourished  in  the  time  of  Henry  VH.,  which, 
since  we  know  not  the  date  of  Friar  Theolx'ild's  War 


KOivEur.  327 

denship,  to  which  the  poem  refers  us,  may  indicate 
that  of  the  composition  itself.  Morton,  the  Mortham 
of  the  text,  is  mentioned  as  being  this  facetious  baron's 
place  of  residence:  accordingly,  Leland  notices,  that 
"  Mr.  Kokeby  hath  a  place  called  Mortham,  a  little 
beneath  Grentey-bridge,  almost  on  the  mouth  of  Gren- 
tey  "  That  no  information  may  be  lacking  which  is  in 
my  power  to  supply,  I  have  to  notice,  that  the  Mis- 
tress Rokeby  of  the  romance,  who  so  charitably 
refreshed  the  sow  after  she  had  discomfited  Fricir 
Middleton  and  his  auxiliaries,  was,  as  appears  from 
the  pedigree  of  the  Rokeby  family,  daughter  and  heii 
ofDanby  ofYafforth. 

This  curious  poem  was  first  published  in  Mr.  TVhitr 
aker's  History  of  Craven,  but,  from  an  inaccurate 
manuscript,  not  corrected  very  happily.  It  weis  trans- 
ferred by  Mr.  Evans  to  the  new  edition  of  his 
Ballads,  with  some  well-judged  conjectural  improve- 
ments. I  have  been  induced  to  give  a  more  authentic 
and  full,  though  still  an  imperfect,  edition  of  this 
humorous  composition,  from  being  furnished  with  a 
copy  from  a  manuscript  in  the  possession  of  Mr. 
Rokeby,  to  whom  I  have -acknowledged  my  obliga- 
tions in  the  last  2sote.  It  has  three  or  four  stanzas 
more  than  that  of  ^Ir.  Whitaker,  and  the  language 
seems,  where  they  differ,  to  have  the  more  ancient 
and  genuine  readings. 

The  Felon  Sow  of  Rokeby  and  the  Friars  of  RicTirmnuL 

Ye  men  that  will  of  aunters  i  wiune, 
That  late  within  this  land  hath  oeene, 
Of  one  I  will  you  tell; 

1  Both  the  MS.  and  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  read  anc^ttort, 


B2S  APPENDIX  TO 

Aiid  of  H  sew '  that  was  sea  2  Strang, 
Alas !  that  ever  she  lived  sea  lang, 
For  fell  3  folk  did  she  whelL* 

She  was  mare  6  than  other  three, 
The  grisliest  beast  that  ere  might  be. 

Her  head  was  great  and  gray: 
She  was  bred  in  Rokeby  wood. 
There  were  few  that  thither  goed,* 

That  came  on  live  '  away. 

Her  walk  was  endlong  8  Greta  side ; 
There  was  no  bren  9  that  durst  her  bide, 

That  was  free  10  heaven  to  hell ; 
Nor  never  man  that  had  that  might, 
That  ever  durst  come  in  her  sight. 

Her  force  it  was  so  fell. 

Kalph  of  Rokeby,  with  good  will. 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  gave  her  till,u 

Full  well  to  garre  ^  them  fare; 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name, 
He  was  sent  to  fetch  her  hame, 

That  rued  him  sine  18  full  sare. 

With  him  tooke  he  wicht  men  two, 
Peter  Dale  was  one  of  thoe, 

That  ever  was  brim  as  beare;  1* 


evidently  a  corruption  of  aunters,  adventures,  as  corrected  by 
Mr.  Evans. 

1  Sow,  according  to  provincial  pronunciation. — 2  So;  York- 
ehire  dialect. — 3  Fele,  many,  Sax. —  ■^A  con'uption  of  quell, 
to  kill. — 5  More,  greater. — «  Went. — ^  Alive. — 8  Along  the  sid 
of  Greta. — 9  Barn,  child,  man  in  general. — i"  From. — 11  To.— 
12  Make. — 13  Since. — i*  Fierce  as  a  bear.  Mr.  Whitaker'i 
copy  reads,  perhaps  in  consequence  of  mistaking  the  MS 
*  T'other  was  Brvan  of  Bear." 


ROKEBT. 


329 


And  well  durst  strike  with  sword  and  knife. 
And  fight  full  manly  for  his  life, 
What  time  as  mister  ware.* 

These  three  men  went  at  God's  will, 
This  wicked  sew  while  they  came  till, 

Ligg;in  2  under  a  tree ; 
Bugg  and  rusty  was  her  haire ; 
She  raise  up  with  a  felon  fare  » 

To  fight  against  the  three. 

She  was  so  on^sely  for  to  meete, 
She  rave  the  earth  up  with  her  feete. 

And  bark  came  fro  the  tree : 
When  Fryar  Middleton  her  saugh,* 
Weet  ye  well  he  might  not  laugh, 

Full  earnestly  look't  hee. 

These  men  of  aunters  that  was  so  wight,* 
They  bound  them  bauldly«  for  to  fight, 

And  strike  at  her  fuil  sare: 
Until  a  kiln  they  garred  her  flee, 
Wold  God  send  them  the  victory. 

They  wold  ask  him  noa  mare. 

The  sew  was  in  the  kiln  hole  down. 

As  they  were  on  the  balke  aboon,^ 

For  8  hurting  of  their  feet; 
They  were  so  sanlted  ^  with  this  sew, 
That  among  them  was  a  stalworth  stew, 

The  kiln  began  to  reeke. 

Durst  noe  man  neigh  her  with  his  hand. 
But  put  a  rape  'O  down  with  his  wand. 
And  haltered  her  full  meete; 
>  Need  were.     Mr.  Whi taker  reads  musters.—^  L\-ing.— »  A 
fierce  countenance  or  manner— -•  Saw.-^  Wight,  brave    The 
Bokeby  MS.  reads  incounters,  and  Mr.  Whitaker,  auncestore.- 
« Boldlv.— 7  On  the  beam  above.—*  To  in-eveut.— »  Assaulted 
-WRoT>e. 


530  APPENDIX   TO 

Th(  y  hurled  her  forth  against  her  will, 
Whiles  they  came  into  a  hill 
A  little  fro  the  street. i 

And  there  she  made  them  such  a  fray, 
If  they  should  live  to  Dooraes-day, 

They  tharrow2  it  ne'er  forgett; 
She  braded  8  upon  every  side, 
And  ran  on  them  gaping  full  wide, 

For  nothing  would  she  lett.* 

She  gave  such  brades  6  at  the  band 
That  Peter  Dale  had  in  his  hand, 

He  might  not  hold  his  feet. 
She  chafed  them  to  and  fro. 
The  wight  men  was  never  soe  woe, 

Their  measure  was  not  so  meete. 

She  bound  her  boldly  to  abide ; 
To  Peter  Dale  she  came  aside. 

With  many  a  hideous  yell; 
She  gaped  soe  wide  and  cried  soe  hee. 
The  Fryar  seid,  "  I  conjure  thee,« 

Thou  art  a  fiend  of  helL 

"  Thou  art  come  hither  for  some  traine,^ 
I  conjure  thee  to  go  againe 

Where  thou  wast  wont  to  dwell." 
He  sayned  8  him  with  crosse  and  creede, 
Tock  forth  a  book,  began  to  reade    ^ 

In  St  John  his  gospell. 

The  sew  she  would  not  Latin  heare, 
But  rudely  rushed  at  the  Frear, 
That  blinked  all  his  blee; » 

1  Wiitling  Street.  See  the  sequel.— 2  Dare. — 8  Rushed.— 
» Leave  it. — 5  Pulls. — ^  This  line  is  wanting  in  Mr.  Whitakei'a 
copy,  whence  it  has  been  conjectured  that  something  is 
wanting  after  this  stanza,  which  now  there  is  no  occasion  to 
luppose. — 7  Evil  device. — 8  Blessed.    Fr. — 9  Lost  his  colour 


ROKEBY.  331 

And  when  she  would  have  taken  her  hold, 
The  Fryar  leaped  as  Jesus  wold, 
And  healed  hiini  with  a  tree. 

She  was  as  brim  2  as  any  beare, 
For  all  their  meete  to  labour  there,' 

To  them  it  was  m  boote: 
Upon  trees  and  bushes  that  by  her  stood. 
She  ranged  as  she  was  wood,* 

And  rave  thera  up  by  roote. 

He  sayd,  "  Alas,  that  I  was  Frear ! 
And  I  shall  be  rugged  ^  in  sunder  here. 

Hard  is  my  destinie ! 
Wist  8  my  brethren  in  this  houre, 
That  I  was  sett  in  such  a  stoure,' 

They  would  pray  for  me." 

This  wicked  beast  that  wrought  this  woe, 
Tooke  that  rape  from  the  other  two, 

And  then  they  lledd  all  three ; 
They  fledd  away  by  Watling-street, 
They  had  no  succour  but  their  feet, 

It  was  the  more  pity. 

1  Sheltered  himself.— 2  Fierce.—^  The  MS.  reads,  to  labonf 
weere.  The  text  seems  to  mean,  that  all  their  labour  to 
obtain  their  intended  meat  was  of  no  use  to  them.  Mr. 
Whitaker  reads, 

••  She  was  brim  as  any  boar, 
And  gave  a  grisly  hideous  roar, 
To  them  it  was  no  boot." 

Besides  the  want  of  connexion  between  the  last  line  and  the 
two  former,  the  second  has  a  very  modem  sound,  and  the 
readmg  of  the  Rokeby  MS.  with  the  s.ight  alteration  in 
the  text,  is  much  better. — *Mad. — ^Tom,  prlled. — •Knew. 
— '  Combat.    Perilous  fight 


532  APPENDIX    TO 

The  feild  it  was  both  lost  and  wonne;  ^ 
The  sew  went  hame,  and  that  full  soone, 

To  Morton  on  the  Greene ; 
When  Ealph  of  Rokeby  saw  the  rape,* 
He  wist  3  tliat  there  had  been  debate, 

Whereat  the  sew  had  beene. 

He  bade  them  stand  out  of  her  way, 
For  she  had  had  a  sudden  fray, — 

"  I  saw  never  so  keene ; 
Some  new  things  shall  we  heare 
Of  her  and  Middleton  the  Frear, 

Some  battell  hath  there  beene.'* 

But  all  that  served  him  for  nought, 
Had  they  not  better  succour  sought, 

They  were  served  therefore  loe. 
Then  Mistress  Rokeby  came  anon, 
And  for  her  brought  shee  meate  full  soone, 

The  sew  came  her  unto. 

She  gave  her  meate  upon  the  flower, 
******** 

[Hiatus  valde  dejlendus.'] 

When  Fryar  Middleton  came  home, 
His  brethren  was  full  foine  ilkone,^ 

And  thanked  God  of  his  life ; 
He  told  them  all  unto  the  end. 
How  he  had  foughten  with  a  fiend, 

And  lived  through  mickle  strife. 

"  We  gave  her  battell  half  a  day. 
And  sithen  6  was  fain  to  fly  away. 
For  saving  of  our  life: ' 

1  This  stanza,  with  the  two  following,  and  the  fragment  of  a 
fourth,  are  not  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  edition. — 2  Xhe  rope  about 
the  sow's  neck. — 3  Knew. — 4  This  line  is  almost  illegible. — 
6  Each  one.— «  Since  then,  after  that. — '  The  above  lines  are 
wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy. 


ROKEBY.  333 

And  Pater  Dale  would  never  blinn,l 
But  as  fast  as  he  could  ryn,^ 
lill  he  came  to  his  wife." 

The  warden  said, "  I  am  full  of  woe, 
That  ever  ye  should  be  torment  so, 

But  wee  with  you  had  beene ! 
Had  wee  been  there  your  brethren  all, 
Wee  should  have  garred  the  warle  *  fall, 

That  wrought  you  all  this  teyne."  * 

Fryar  Miudieton  said  soon,  "  Nay, 
In  faith  you  would  have  fled  away, 

When  most  mister  5" had  been; 
You  will  all  speake  words  at  hame, 
A  man  would  ding  6  you  every  ilk  ane. 

And  if  it  be  as  I  weine." 

He  look*t  so  griesly  all  that  night, 
The  warden  said,  "  Yon  man  will  fight 

If  you  say  ought  but  good ; 
Yon  guest '  hath  grieved  him  so  sare. 
Hold  your  tongues  and  speake  noe  mare, 

He  looks  as  he  were  woode." 

The  warden  waged  3  on  the  mome. 
Two  boldest  men  that  ever  were  borne, 
I  weine,  or  ever  shall  be; 


1  Cease,  stop. — ^  Run. — 8  Warlock,  or  wizard. — 4  Harm. — 
8  Need. — 6  Beat.  The  copy  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  History  of 
Craven  reads,  perhaps  better, — 

"  The  fiend  would  ding  you  down  ilk  one." 

7"  Yon  guest,"  may  be  yon  gest,  i.  e.  that  adventure;  or  it 
may  mean  yon  ghaUt,  or  apparition,  which  in  old  poems  is 
applied  sometimes  to  what  is  supernaturally  hideous.  The 
printed  copy  reads, — "  The  beast  hath,"  &c. — 8  Hired,  % 
Vorkshire  phrase. 


334  APPENDIX    TO 

The  one  -was  Gibbert  Griffin's  son, 
Full  mickle  worship  has  he  wonne. 
Both  by  land  and  sea. 

The  other  was  a  bastard  son  of  Spain, 
Many  a  Sarazin  hath  he  slain, 

His  dint '  hath  gart  them  die. 
These  two  men  the  battle  undertooke, 
Against  the  sew,  as  says  the  booke, 

And  sealed  security. 

That  they  should  boldly  bide  and  fight, 
And  skomfit  her  in  maiue  and  might, 

Or  therefore  should  they  die. 
The  warden  sealed  to  them  againe, 
And  said,  "  In  feild  if  ye  be  slain. 

This  condition  make  I: 

*'  We  shall  for  you  pray,  sing,  and  read 
To  doomesday  with  hearty  speede, 

With  all  our  progeny." 
Then  the  letters  well  was  made, 
Bands  bound  with  scales  brade,* 

As  deedes  of  armes  should  be. 

These  men  of  armes  that  weere  so  wight, 
With  armour  and  with  brandes  bright, 

They  went  this  sew  to  see; 
She  made  on  them  slike  a  rerd,* 
That  for  her  they  were  sare  afer'd, 

And  almost  bound  to  flee. 

She  came  roveing  them  egaine ; 
That  saw  the  bastard  son  of  Spaine, 

He  braded  ^  out  his  brand ; 
Full  spiteously  at  her  he  strake. 
For  all  the  fence  that  he  could  make. 

She  gat  sword  out  of  hand; 

Blow.— 2  Broad,  large. — s  Such  like  a  roar. — *  Drew  out. 


EOKEBY.  335 

And  rave  in  sunder  half  h?3  shici-Jo. 
And  bare  him  backward  in  tho  feLd*-, 
He  might  not  her  gainst&nd. 

She  would  have  riven  his  privich  geai* 
But  Gilbert  with  his  sword  of  werre, 

He  strake  at  her  full  strong, 
On  her  shoulder  till  she  held  the  swerd 
Then  was  good  Gilbert  sore  afer'd, 

When  the  blade  brake  in  throng.i 

Since  in  his  hands  be  hath  her  tane, 
She  tooke  him  by  the  shoulder  bane,^ 

And  held  her  hold  full  fast, 
She  strave  so  stiffly  in  that  stower," 
That  through  all  his  rich  armour 

The  blood  came  at  the  last. 

Then  Gilbert  grieved  was  sea  sare, 
That  he  rave  oflf  both  hide  and  haira, 

The  flesh  came  fro  the  bone; 
And  with  all  force  he  felled  her  there. 
And  wann  her  worthily  in  werre, 

And  band  her  him  alone. 

And  lift  her  on  a  horse  sea  hee, 
Into  two  paniers  well-made  of  a  tre, 

And  to  Richmond  they  did  hay:* 
When  they  saw  her  come. 
They  sang  merrily  Te  Deum^ 

The  Fryers  on  that  day.5 

They  thanked  God  and  St  Francis, 

As  they  had  won  the  best  of  pris,* 

And  never  a  man  was  slaine : 

1  In  the  combat.— 2  Bone.— ^  Meeting,  battle.—*  Hie,  hasten 
-8 The  MS.  reads,  mistakenly,  every  day. — •  Price. 


336  APPENDIX    TO 

There  did  never  a  man  more  manly. 
Knight  Marcus,  nor  yett  Sir  Gui, 
Nor  Loth  of  Louthyane.i 

If  ye  will  any  more  of  this, 
In  the  Fryei-s  of  Richmond  'tis 

In  parchment  good  and  fine ; 
And  how  Fryar  Middleton  that  was  so  kend,* 
At  Greta-Bridge  conjured  a  feind 

In  likeness  of  a  swine. 

It  is  well  known  to  many  a  man, 

That  Fryar  Theobald  was  warden  than. 

And  this  fell  in  his  time ; 
And  Christ  them  bless  both  farre  and  neare, 
All  that  for  solace  list  this  to  heare, 

And  him  that  made  the  rhime. 

Ralph  Rokeby  with  full  good  will. 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  he  gave  her  till, 

This  sew  to  mend  their  fare: 
Frj'ar  Middleton  by  his  name. 
Would  needs  bring  the  fot  sew  hame. 

That  rued  him  since  full  sare. 

i  The  father  of  Sir  Gawain,  in  the  romance  of  Arthur  and 
Blerlin.    The  MS.  is  thus  connipted, — 

More  loth  of  Louth  Ryme. 
Well  known,  or  perhaps  kind,  well  disposed. 


Note  N. 

The  Filea  of  O'Necde  was  he.— P.  209. 

The  Filea,  or  Ollamli   Re  Dan,  was  the  proper 
bai'd,  or,  as  the  name  literally  implies,  poet    Each 


fiOKEBY.  337 

chieftain  of  distinction  Lad  one  or  more  in  his  service, 
whose  office  was  usually  hereditary.  The  late  ingen- 
ious ;Mr.  Cooper  Walker  has  assembled  a  curious  col- 
lection of  particulars  concerning  this  order  of  men,  in 
his  Historical  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards.  There 
were  itinerant  bards  of  less  elevated  rank,  but  all 
were  held  in  the  highest  veneration.  The  English, 
who  considered  them  eis  chief  supporters  of  the  spirit 
of  national  independence,  were  much  disposed  to 
prosciibe  this  race  of  poets,  as  Edward  I.  is  said  to 
have  done  in  Wales.  Spenser,  while  he  admits  the 
merit  of  their  wild  poetry,  as  "  savouring  of  sweet  wit 
and  good  invention,  and  sprinkled  with  some  pretty 
flowers  of  their  natural  device,**  yet  rigorously  con- 
demns the  whole  application  of  their  poetry,  as  abased  to 
"  the  gracing  of  wickedness  and  vice."  The  household 
minstrel  was  admitted  even  to  the  feast  of  the  prince 
whom  he  served,  and  sat  at  the  same  table.  It  was 
one  of  the  customs  of  which  Sir  Richard  Sewry,  to 
whose  charge  Richard  II.  committed  the  instructi'on 
of  four  Irish  monarchs  in  the  civilization  of  the  period, 
found  it  most  difficult  to  break  his  royal  disciples, 
though  he  had  also  much  ado  to  subject  them  to  other 
English  rules,  and  particularly  to  reconcile  them  to 
wear  breeches.  "  The  kjTig,  my  souerevigne  lord's 
entent  was,  that  in  maner,  countenaunce,  and  apparell 
of  clothyng,  they  sholde  use  according  to  the  maner 
of  Englande,  for  the  kynge  thought  to  make  them  all 
four  knyghtes  :  they  had  a  fajTe  house  to  lodge  in,  in 
Duvelyn,  and  I  was  charged  to  abyde  styll  with  them, 
and  not  to  departe  ;  and  so  two  or  three  dayes  I  suf- 
fered them  to  do  as  they  lyst,  and  sayde  nothyng  to 
\bem,  but  folowed  their  owne  appety-tes .  they  wold© 
VOL.  IV.  22 


338  APPENDIX    TO 

ritte  at  the  table,  and  make  countenance  nother  good 
nor  fayre.  Than  I  thought  I  shulde  cause  them  to 
chaunge  that  maner ;  they  wolde  cause  their  myn- 
strells,  their  seruantes,  and  varlettes,  to  sytte  with 
them,  and  to  eate  in  their  owne  dyssche,  andtodrinke 
of  their  cuppes ;  and  they  shewed  me  that  the  usage 
of  their  cuntre  was  good,  for  they  sayd  in  all  thynga 
(except  their  beddes)  they  were  and  lyved  as  comen. 
So  the  fourthe  day  I  ordayned  other  tables  to  be 
Gouered  in  the  hall,  after  the  usage  of  Englande,  and 
I  made  these  four  knyghtes  to  sytte  at  the  byghe 
table,  and  their  mynstrels  at  another  borde,  and  their 
seruauntes  and  varlettes  at  another  byneth  them, 
whereof  by  semynge  they  weie  displeased,  and  beheld 
each  other,  and  wolde  not  eate,  and  sayde,  how  I 
wolde  take  fro  them  their  good  usage,  wherin  they  had 
been  norished.  Then  I  answered  them,  smylyng,  to 
apeace  them,  that  it  was  not  honourable  for  their 
estates  to  do  as  they  dyde  before,  and  that  they  must 
leave  it,  and  use  the  custom  of  Englande,  and  that  it 
was  the  kynge's  pleasure  they  shulde  so  do,  and  how 
he  was  charged  so  to  order  them.  When  they  harde 
that,  they  sufired  it,  bycause  they  had  putte  theraselfe 
under  the  obeysance  of  the  Kynge  of  England,  and 
parceuered  in  the  same  as  long  as  I  was  with  them ; 
yet  they  had  one  use  which  I  knew  was  well  used  in 
their  cuntre,  and  that  was,  they  dyde  were  no  breches ; 
I  caused  breches  of  lynen  clothe  to  be  made  for  them. 
Whyle  I  was  with  them  I  caused  them  to  leaue  many 
rude  thynges,  as  well  in  clothyng  as  in  other  causes. 
Moche  ado  I  had  at  the  fyTst  to  cause  them  to  weare 
gownes  of  sylke,  furred  with  myneuere  and  gray ;  for 
before  these  kynges  thought  themselfe  well  apparelled 


IvOKEBT  339 

whan  they  had  on  a  mantell.  They  rocle  alwayea 
without  saddles  and  styropes,  and  with  great  payne  I 
made  them  to  ride  after  our  usajre." — Lord  Berxers* 
Froissart.     Lond.  1812,  4to,  vol.  ii.  p.  621. 

The  influence  of  these  bards  upon  their  patrons, 
and  their  admitted  title  to  interfere  in  matters  of  the 
weightiest  concern,  may  be  also  proved  from  the  be- 
haviour of  one  of  them  at  an  interview  between 
Thomas  Fitzgerald,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Kildare,  then 
about  to  renounce  the  English  allegiance,  and  the 
Lord  Chancellor  Cromer,  who  made  a  long  and  goodly 
oration  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose.  The  young 
lord  had  come  to  the  council  "  armed  and  weaponed,'* 
and  attended  by  seven  score  horsemen  in  their  shirts 
of  mail ;  and  we  are  assured  that  the  chancellor,  having 
set  forth  his  oration  "  with  such  a  lamentable  action  as 
his  cheekes  were  all  beblubbered  with  teares,  the 
horsemen,  namelie,  such  as  understood  not  English, 
began  to  diuine  what  the  lord-chancellor  meant  with 
all  this  long  circumstance ;  some  of  them  reporting 
that  he  was  preaching  a  sermon,  others  said  that  he 
stood  making  of  some  heroicall  poetry  in  the  praise 
of  the  Lord  Thomas.  And  thus  as  everj-  idiot  shot 
his  foolish  bolt  at  the  wise  chancellor  his  discourse, 
who  in  elTect  had  nought  else  but  drop  pretious 
Btones  before  hogs,  one  Bard  de  Nelan,  an  Irish  rith- 
mour,  and  a  rotten  sheej^e  to  infect  a  whole  flocke, 
was  chatting  of  Irish  verses,  as  though  his  toong  had 
run  on  pattens,  in  commendation  of  the  Lord  Thomas, 
investing  him  with  the  title  of  Silken  Thomas,  Dicause 
his  horsemens  jacks  were  gorgeously  imbroidered  with 
Bilke;  and  in  the  end  he  told  him  that  he  lingered 
there   ouer  long;    whereat  the  Lord  Thomas   being 


340  APPENDIX    TO 

quickened.'  ^  as  Holllnsbed  expresses  it,  bid  defiance 
to  the  chancellor,  threw  doAvn  contemptuously  the 
Bword  of  office,  which,  in  his  father's  absence,  he  held 
Hs  depr'y,  and  rushed  forth  to  engage  in  open  insur* 


Note  O. 

Ah,  Clandeboy  !  thy  friendly  Jloor 
Slieve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more, — P.  210. 

Clandeboy  is  a  district  of  Ulster,  formerly  possessed 
by  the  sept  of  the  O'Neales,  and  Slieve-Donard  a  ro- 
mantic mountain  in  the  same  province.  The  clan  was 
ruined  after  Tyrone's  great  rebellion,  and  their  places 
of  abode  laid  desolate.  The  ancient  Irish,  wild  and 
uncultivated  in  other  respects,  did  not  yield  even  to 
their  descendants  in  practising  the  most  free  and  ex- 
tended hospitality ;  and  doubtless  the  bards  mourned 
the  decay  of  the  mansion  of  their  chiefs  in  strains 
similar  to  the  verses  of  the  British  Llywarch  Hen  on 
a  similar  occasion,  which  are  affecting,  even  through 
the  discourajrinji  medium  of  a  literal  translation: — 


"  Silent-breathing  gale,  long  wilt  thou  be  heard ! 
There  is  scarcely  another  deserving  praise, 
Since  Urien  is  no  more. 

Many  a  dog  that  scented  well  the  prey,  and  aerial  hawk, 
Have  been  trained  on  this  floor 
Before  Erlleon  became  polluted  .  .  . 

1  Hollinshed.     Lond.  1808,  4to,  vol.  vi.  p.  291. 


ROKEBY.  341 

rhis  liearth,  ah,  -will  it  not  be  covered  with  nettles! 

Whilst  its  defender  lived, 

More  congenial  tc  it  was  the  foot  of  the  needy  petitioner. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  green  sod ! 

In  the  lifetime  of  Owain  and  Elphin, 

Its  ample  caldrcn  boiled  the  prev  taken  from  the  foe. 

This  hearth  will  it  not  be  covered  with  toad-stools! 
Around  the  viand  it  prepared,  more  cheering  was 
The  clattering  sword  of  the  fierce  dauntless  warrior. 

1  his  Hearth,  will  it  not  be  overgrown  with  spreading  brambles 
Till  now,  logs  of  burning  wood  lav  on  it, 
Accustomed  to  prepare  the  gifts  of  Eeged ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  thorns ! 

More  congenial  on  it  would  iiave  been  the  mixed  group 

Of  OwAin's  social  friends  united  in  harmony. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  over  with  ants  I 
More  adapted  to  it  would  have  been  the  bright  torches 
And  harmless  festivities! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  dock-leaves ! 

More  congenial  on  its  floor  would  have  been 

The  mead,  and  the  talking  of  wine-cheered  warriors. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  turned  up  by  the  swine ! 

More  congenial  to  it  would  have  been  the  clamour  of  men, 

Ajid  the  circling  horns  of  the  banquet." 

Htrmc  Elegies  of  Llywarc  Hen,  by  Owes 
Lond.  1792,  8vo,  p.  41. 

''  The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  bed — 

I  must  weep  a  while,  and  then  be  silent! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night. 

Without  fire,  without  candle — 

Except  iiod  doth,  who  will  endue  me  with  patience! 


342  APPENDIX    TO 

The  hall  of  Cjnddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  -without  being  lighted — 
Be  thou  encircled  with  spreading  silence! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  gloomy  seems  its  roof 
Since  the  sweet  smile  of  humanity  is  no  more — 
Woe  to  him  that  saw  it,  if  he  neglects  to  do  good ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  art  thou  not  bereft  of  thy  appearance? 

Thy  shield  is  in  the  grave ; 

Whilst  he  lived  there  was  no  broken  roof! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  without  love  this  night, 

Since  he  that  owned  it  is  no  more — 

Ah,  death:  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  he  will  leave  mel 

The  hall  of  CjTiddylan  is  not  easy  this  night. 

On  the  top  of  the  rock  of  Hydwith, 

Without  its  lord,  without  company,  without  the  circling  feasts ' 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  songs — 
Tears  afflict  the  cheeks ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  family — 
My  overflowing  tears  gush  out! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  pierces  me  to  see  it, 
Without  a  covering,  without  fire— 
My  general  dead,  and  I  alive  myself! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  the  seat  of  chill  grief  this  night, 

After  the  respect  I  experienced; 

Without  the  men,  without  the  women,  who  reside  there! 


ROKEBT.  343 


The  hall  of  Crnddylan  is  sflent  this  night, 

After  losins:  its  master — 

The  great  merciful  God,  what  shall  I  do  I '' 


Ibid. -p.  77. 


Note  P. 
LiUlecote  IlaU.—P.  231. 

The  tradition  from  -which  the  ballad  is  founded  was 
supplied  bv  a  friend,  (the  late  Lord  Webb  Sej-mour,) 
whose  account  I  will  not  do  the  injustice  to  abridjre, 
as  it  contains  an  admirable  picture  of  an  old  English 
haU:— 

*'  Littlecote  House  stands  in  a  low  and  lonelv  situa- 
tion. On  three  sides  it  is  surrounded  by  a  park  that 
spreads  over  the  adjoining  hill ;  on  the  fourth,  by 
meadows  which  are  watered  by  the  river  Keunet. 
Close  on  one  side  of  the  house  is  a  thick  grove  of  lofty 
trees,  along  the  verge  of  which  runs  one  of  the  princi- 
pal avenues  to  it  through  the  park.  It  is  an  irregular 
building  of  great  antiquity,  and  was  probably  erected 
about  the  time  of  the  termination  of  feudal  warfare, 
when  defence  came  no  longer  to  be  an  object  in  a 
countr}*  mansion.  Many  circumstances,  however,  in 
the  interior  of  the  house,  seem  appropriate  to  feudal 
times.  The  hall  is  very  spacious,  floored  with  stones, 
and  lighted  by  large  transom  windows,  that  are  clothed 
-with  casements.  Its  walls  are  hung  with  old  military 
accoutrements,  that  have  long  been  left  a  prey  to  rust 
At  one  end  of  the  hall  is  a  range  of  coats  of  mail  and 
helmets,  ancl  there  is  on  every  >i<le  abnniLince  of  old- 
fashioned  pistols  and  guns,  lUiiiiy  of  them  with  match- 


344  APPENDIX    TO 

locks.  Immediately  below  the  cornice  hangs  a  row  of 
leathern  jerkins,  made  in  the  form  of  a  shirt,  supposed 
to  have  been  worn  as  armour  by  the  vassals.  A  large 
oak  table,  reaching  nearly  from  one  end  of  the  room 
to  the  other,  might  have  feasted  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood, and  an  appendage  to  one  end  of  it  made  it 
answer  at  other  times  for  the  old  game  of  shuffleboard. 
The  rest  of  the  furniture  is  in  a  suitable  style,  particu- 
larly an  arm-chair  of  cumbi-ous  workmanship,  con- 
structed of  Avood,  curiously  turned,  with  a  high  back 
and  triangular  seat,  said  to  have  been  used  by  Judge 
Pophara  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  The  entrance 
into  the  hall  is  at  one  end,  by  a  low  door,  communi- 
cating with  a  passage  that  leads  from  the  outer  door 
in  the  front  of  the  house  to  a  quadrangle  ^  within  ;  at 
the  other,  it  opens  upon  a  gloomy  staircase,  by  which 
you  ascend  to  the  first  floor,  and,  passing  the  dooi-s  oi 
some  bedchambers,  enter  a  narrow  gallery,  which  ex- 
tends along  the  back  front  of  the  house  from  one  end 
to  the  other  of  it,  and  looks  upon  an  old  garden.  This 
gallery  is  hung  with  portraits,  chiefly  in  the  Spanish 
dresses  of  the  sixteenth  century.  In  one  of  the  bed- 
chambers, which  you  pass  in  going  towards  the  gallery, 
is  a  bedstead  with  blue  furniture,  which  time  has  now 
made  dingy  and  threadbare,  and  in  the  bottom  of  one 
of  the  bed  curtains  you  are  sIioavu  a  place  where  a 
small  piece  has  been  cut  out  and  sewn  in  again, — a 
circumstance  which  serves  to  identify  the  scene  of  the 
following  story : — 

"It  was  on  a  dark  rainy  night  in   the  month  of 

1  I  think  there  is  a  chapel  on  one  side  of  it,  but  am  uol 
q^uite  sure. 


ROKEBY.  345 

November,  that  an  old  midwife  sat  musing  by  her  cot- 
tage fire-side,  when  on  a  sudden  she  was  startled  by  a 
loud  knocking  at  the  door.  On  opening  it  she  found 
a  liorseman,  who  told  her  that  her  assistance  waa 
required  immediately  by  a  person  of  rank,  and  that 
she  should  be  handsomely  rewarded ;  but  that  there 
were  reasons  for  keeping  the  afi'air  a  strict  secret,  and, 
therefore,  she  must  submit  to  be  bUndfolded,  and  to  be 
conducted  in  that  condition  to  the  bedchamber  ol  the 
lady.  With  some  hesitation  the  midwife  consented ; 
the  horseman  bound  her  eyes,  and  placed  her  on  a 
pillion  behind  him.  After  proceeding  in  silence  for 
many  miles  through  rough  and  dirty  lanes,  they  stop- 
ped, and  the  midwife  was  led  into  a  house,  which,  from 
the  length  of  her  walk  through  the  apartments,  as 
well  as  the  sounds  about  her,  she  discovered  to  be  the 
Beat  of  wealth  and  power.  \Mien  the  bandage  was 
removed  from  her  eyes,  she  found  herself  in  a  bed- 
chamber, in  which  were  the  lady  on  whose  account 
she  had  been  sent  for,  and  a  man  of  a  haughty  and 
ferocious  aspect.  The  lady  was  deli^  ered  of  a  fine 
boy.  Immediately  the  man  commanded  the  midwife 
to  give  him  the  child,  and,  catching  it  from  her,  he 
hurried  across  the  room,  and  threw  it  on  the  back  of 
the  fire,  that  was  blazing  in  the  chimney.  The  child, 
however,  "W£is  strong,  and  by  its  struggles  rolled  itself 
upon  the  hearth,  when  the  niffian  again  seized  it  with 
fiiry,  and  in  spite  of  the  intercession  of  the  midwife, 
and  the  more  piteous  entreaties  of  the  mother,  thrust 
it  under  the  grate,  and  raking  the  live  coals  upon  it, 
•con  put  an  end  to  its  life.  The  midwife,  after  spend- 
ing some  time  in  affording  all  the  relief  in  her  power 
U)  the  wretched  mother,  was  told  that  she  must   *y 


346  APPENDIX  TO 

gone.  Her  former  conductor  appeared,  who  again 
bound  her  eyes,  and  conveyed  her  behind  him  to  her 
own  home  ;  he  then  paid  her  handsomely,  and  de- 
parted. The  midwife  was  strongly  agitated  by  the 
horrors  of  the  preceding  night ;  and  she  immediately 
made  a  deposition  of  the  facta  before  a  magistrate. 
Two  circumstances  afforded  hopes  of  detecting  the 
house  in  which  the  crime  had  been  committed ;  one 
was,  that  the  midwife,  as  she  sat  by  the  bedside,  had, 
with  a  view  to  discover  the  place,  cut  out  a  piece  of 
the  bed  curtain,  and  sewn  it  in  again  ;  the  other  was, 
that  as  she  had  descended  the  staircase  she  had  counted 
the  steps.  Some  suspicions  fell  upon  one  Darrell,  at 
that  time  the  proprietor  of  Littlecote-House,  and  the 
domain  around  it.  The  house  was  examined,  and 
identitied  by  the  midwife,  and  Darrell  Avas  tried  at 
Salisbury  lor  the  murder.  By  corrupting  his  judge, 
he  escaped  the  sentence  of  the  law ;  but  broke  his 
neck  by  a  fall  from  his  horse  in  hunting,  in  a  few 
months  after.  The  place  where  this  happened  is  still 
known  by  the  name  of  Darrcll's  Style — a  spot  to  be 
ilreaded  by  the  peasant  whom  the  shade>!  of  evening 
have  overtaken  on  his  way. 

•'  Littlecote  House  is  two  miles  from  Ilungerford.  in 
Berkshire,  through  which  the  Bath  load  passes.  The 
fact  occurred  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  All  the  im- 
portant circumstances  I  have  given  exactly  as  they 
are  lold  in  the  country ;  some  trifles  only  are  added, 
either  to  render  the  whole  connected,  or  to  increase 
the  impression." 

To  Lord  Webb's  edition  of  this  singular  storj'  the 
author  can  now  add  the  following  account,  extracted 
from  Aubrey's  Correspondence.  It  occurs  among 
other  particulars  ra«pecting  Sir  John  Popham  : — 


ROKEBr.  347 

•'  Sir Dayrell,  of  Littlecote,  in  Corn.   Wilts, 

having  gott  his  lady's  waiting-woman  with  child,  when 
her  travell  came,  sent  a  servant  with  a  horse  for  a 
midwife,  whom  he  was  to  bring  hoodwinked.  She 
was  brought,  and  layd  the  woman,  but  as  soon  as  the 
child  was  born,  she  sawe  the  knight  take  the  child  and 
murther  it,  and  burn  it  in  the  fire  in  the  chamber. 
She  having  done  her  businesse,  was  extraordinarily 
rewarded  for  her  paines,  and  sent  blindfolded  away. 
This  horrid  action  did  much  run  in  her  mind,  and  sho. 
had  a  desire  to  discover  it,  but  knew  not  where  'twas. 
She  considered  with  herself  the  time  that  she  was 
riding,  and  how  many  miles  she  might  have  rode  at 
that  rate  in  that  time,  and  that  it  must  be  some  great 
person's  house,  for  the  roome  was  1 2  foot  high ;  and 
she  should  know  the  chamber  if  she  sawe  it.  She 
went  to  a  Justice  of  Peace,  and  search  was  made.  The 
very  chamber  found.  The  Knight  was  brought  to  his 
tryall ;  and  to  be  short,  this  judge  had  this  noble 
house,  parke  and  manner,  and  (I  thinke)  more,  for  a 
bribe  to  save  his  life. 

"  Sir  John  Popham  gave  sentence  according  to 
iawe,  but  being  a  great  person,  and  a  favourite,  he 
procured  a  noli  prosequi" 

With  this  tale  of  terror  the  author  has  combined 
some  circumstances  of  a  similar  legend,  which  v\-a:j 
current  at  Edinburgh  during  his  childhood. 

About  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
when  the  large  castles  of  the  Scottish  nobles,  and 
even  the  secluded  hotels,  like  those  of  the  French 
noblesse,  which  they  possessed  in  Edinburgh,  were 
sometimes  the  scenes  of  strange  and  mysterious  trans- 
a.tions,  a  divine  of  singular  sanctity  was  called  up  at 


848  APPLXDIX    TO 

midnight  to  pray  with  a  person  at  the  point  of  death 
This  was  no  unusual  summons ;  but  what  followed  was 
alarming.  He  was  put  into  a  sedan-chair,  and  after 
he  had  been  transported  to  a  remote  part  of  the  town, 
the  bearers  insisted  upon  his  being  blindtblded.  The 
request  was  enforced  by  a  cocked  pistol,  and  submitted 
to;  but  in  the  course  of  the  discussion,  he  conjectured, 
from  the  phrases  employed  by  the  chairmen,  and  from 
some  part  of  their  dress,  not  completely  concealed  by 
their  cloaks,  that  they  were  greatly  above  the  menial 
station  they  had  assumed.  After  many  turns  and 
windings,  the  chair  was  carried  up  stairs  into  a  lodg- 
ing, where  his  eyes  were  uncovered,  and  he  w^as  intro- 
duced into  a  bedroom,  where  he  found  a  lady,  newly 
delivered  of  an  infant.  He  was  commanded  by  his 
attendants  to  say  such  prayers  by  her  bedside  as  were 
fitting  for  a  person  not  expected  to  survive  a  mortal 
disorder.  He  ventured  to  remonstrate,  and  observe, 
that  her  safe  delivery  warranted  better  hopes.  But  he 
was  sternly  commanded  to  obey  tlio  orders  first  given, 
and  with  difficulty  recollected  himself  sufficiently  to 
acquit  himself  of  the  task  imposed  on  him.  He  was 
then  again  hurried  into  the  chair ;  but  as  they  con- 
ducted him  down  stairs,  he  heard  the  report  of  a 
pistol.  He  was  safely  conducted  home ;  a  purse  ot 
gold  was  forced  upon  him  ;  but  he  was  warned,  at  the 
same  time,  that  the  least  allusion  to  this  dark  transac- 
tion would  cost  him  his  life.  He  betook  himself  to 
rest,  and,  after  long  and  broken  musing,  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep.  From  this  he  was  awakened  by  his  ser- 
vant, with  the  dismal  news  that  a  fire  of  uncommon 
ftiry  had  broken  out  in  the  house  of  *  *  *  *,  near 
the  head  of  the  Canongate,  and  that  it  was  totally  con- 


EOKEBT.  349 

Bumed  ;  with  the  shocking  addition,  that  the  daughter 
of  the  proprietor,  a  young  lady  eminent  for  beauty 
and  accomplishments,  had  perished  in  the  flames.  The 
clergyman  had  his  suspicions,  but  to  have  made  them 
public  would  have  availed  nothing.  He  was  timid  ; 
the  family  was  of  the  first  distinction  ;  above  all,  the 
deed  was  done,  and  could  not  be  amended.  Time 
wore  away,  however,  and  with  it  his  terrors.  He  be- 
came unhappy  at  being  the  solitary  depositary  of  this 
fearful  mystery,  and  mentioned  it  to  some  of  his 
brethren,  through  whom  the  anecdote  acquired  a  sort 
of  publicity.  Tlie  divine,  however,  had  been  long 
dead,  and  the  story  in  some  degree  forgotten,  when  a 
fire  broke  out  again  on  the  very  same  spot  where  the 
house  of  *  *  *  *  had  formerly  stood,  and  which  was 
now  occupied  by  buildings  of  an  inferior  description. 
When  the  flames  were  at  their  height,  the  tumult, 
which  usually  attends  such  a  scene,  was  suddenly  sus- 
pended by  an  unexpected  apparition.  A  beautiful 
female,  in  a  night  dress,  extremely  rich,  but  at  least 
half  a  century  old,  appeared  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
fire,  and  uttered  these  tremendous  words  in  her  ver- 
nacular idiom:  "  Anes  burned,  twice  burned  ;  the  third 
time  I'll  scare  you  all  !  "  The  belief  in  this  story  was 
formerly  so  strong,  that  on  a  fire  breaking  out,  and 
seeming  to  approach  the  fatal  spot,  there  was  a  good 
d*>al  of  anxiety  testifierl,  lest  the  apparition  should 
make  good  her  denunciation. 


350  APPENDIX   TO 


Note  Q. 


As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 
As  Halloio-tide  or  Christmas-even. — P.  237. 

Such  an  exhortation  was,  in  similar  circumstances, 
actually  given  to  his  followers  by  a  "Welsh  chief- 
tain : — 

"  Enmity  did  continue  betweene  Howell  ap  Rys  ap 
Howell  Yaughan  and  the  sonnes  of  John  ap  ]\Iere- 
dith.  After  the  death  of  Evan  ap  Rebert,  Griffith 
ap  Gronw  (cosen-german  to  John  ap  Meredith's 
sonnes  of  Gwynfryn,  who  had  long  served  in  France, 
and  had  charge  there)  comeing  home  to  li\e  in  the 
countrey,  it  happened  that  a  servant  of  his,  comeing 
to  fish  in  Styrallyn,  liis  fish  was  taken  away,  and  the 
fellow  beaten  by  Howell  ap  Rys  his  servants,  and  by 
his  commandment.  Griflith  ap  John  ap  Gronw  took 
the  matter  in  such  dudgeon  that  he  challenged  Ilowell 
ap  Rys  to  the  field,  which  he  refusing,  assembling  his 
cosins  John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  and  his  friends 
together,  assaulted  Howell  in  his  own  house,  after  the 
maner  he  had  scene  in  the  French  warres,  and  con- 
sumed with  fire  his  barnes  and  his  out-houses.  Whilst 
he  was  thus  assaulting  the  hall,  which  Howel  ap  Rys 
imd  many  other  people  kept,  being  a  very  stron^T^ 
house,  he  was  shot,  out  of  a  crevice  of  the  house, 
through  the  sight  of  his  beaver  into  the  head,  and 
slayne  outright,  being  otherwise  armed  at  all  points 
Notwithstanding  his  death,  the  assault  of  the  house 
was  continued  with  great  vehemence,  the  doores  fired 


ROKEBT.  351 

witli  great  burthens  of  straw;  besides  this,  the 
Bmoake  of  the  out-houses  and  bames  not  farrc  distant 
annoyed  greatly  the  defendants,  for  that  most  of  them 
lay  under  boordes  and  benches  upon  the  floore,  in 
the  hall,  the  better  to  avoyd  the  smoake.  During  this 
scene  of  confusion  onely  the  old  man,  Howell  ap  Rys, 
never  stooped,  but  stood  valiantly  in  the  niiddest  of 
the  floore,  armed  with  a  gleve  in  his  hand,  and  called 
unto  them,  and  bid  '  them  arise  like  men,  for  shame, 
for  he  had  knowne  there  as  great  a  smoake  in  that 
hall  upon  Christmas-even.'  In  the  end,  seeing  the 
house  could  noe  longer  defend  them,  being  overlayed 
with  a  multitude,  upon  parley  betweene  them,  Howell 
ap  Rys  was  content  to  yeald  himself  prisoner  to  Morns 
ap  John  ap  Meredith,  John  ap  Meredith's  eldest  sonne, 
soe  as  he  would  swear  unto  him  to  bring  him  safe  to 
Ccirnarvon  Castle,  to  abide  the  triall  of  the  law  for 
the  death  of  Graff'  ap  John  ap  Gronw,  who  was  cosen- 
german  removed  to  the  said  Howell  ap  Rys,  and  of 
the  ver\'  same  house  he  was  of.  AVhich  Morris  ap 
John  ap  Meredith  undertaking,  did  put  a  guard  about 
the  said  Howell  of  his  trustiest  friends  and  servants, 
who  kept  and  defended  him  from  the  rage  of  his 
kindred,  and  especially  of  Owen  ap  John  ap  Mere- 
dith, his  brother,  who  was  very  eager  against  him. 
They  passed  by  leisure  thence  like  a  campe  to  Car- 
nar\on :  the  whole  countrie  being  assembled,  Howell 
his  friends  posted  a  horseback  from  one  place  or  other 
by  the  way,  who  brought  word  that  he  was  come 
thither  safe,  for  they  were  in  great  fear  lest  he  should 
be  murthered,  and  that  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith 
could  not  be  able  to  defend  hira,  neither  durst  any  of 
Howell's  friends  be  there,  for  fear  of  the  kindred.    Jo 


352  APPENDIX    TO 

the  end,  being  delivered  by  Morris  ap  John  ap  Mere- 
dith to  the  constable  of  Carnarvon  Castle,  and  there 
kept  safely  in  ward  untill  the  assises,  it  fell  out  by  law, 
that  the  burning  of  Howell's  houses,  and  assaulting 
him  iu  his  owne  house,  was  a  more  haynous  oflence  in 
Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  and  the  rest,  than  the 
death  of  Graff'  ap  John  ap  Gronw  in  Howell,  who 
did  it  in  his  own  defence ;  whereupon  Morris  ap  John 
ap  Meredith,  with  thirty-five  more,  were  indicted  of 
felony,  as  appeareth  by  the  copie  of  the  indictment, 
which  I  had  from  the  records." — Sir  John  AV'i'XXE's 
History  of  the  Gicydir  Family.  Lond.  1770,  8vo, 
p.  116. 


Note  R. 
A  Horseman  arm'dj  at  headlong  speed. — P.  285. 

This,  and  what  follows,  is  taken  from  a  real  achieve- 
ment of  Major  Kobert  Philipson,  called,  from  his 
desperate  and  adventurous  courage,  Robin  the  De%-il ; 
which,  as  being  very  inaccurately  noticed  in  this  note 
upon  the  first  edition,  shall  be  now  given  in  a  more 
authentic  form.  The  chief  place  of  his  retreat  was 
not  Lord's  Island,  in  Derwcntwater,  but  Curwen's 
Island,  in  the  Lake  of  Windermere. — 

"  This  island  formerly  belonged  to  the  Philipsons,  a 
family  of  note  in  Westmoreland.  During  the  Civil 
Wars,  two  of  them,  an  elder  and  a  younger  brother, 
served  the  King.  The  former,  who  was  the  proprietor 
of  it,  commanded  a  regiment ;  the  latter  was  a  major. 

"  The  major,  whose  name  was  Robert,  was  a  man 


BOKEBT.  353 

M  great  spirit  and  enterprise ;  and  for  his  many  feata 
of  personal  braver}-  had  obtained,  among  the  Oliveriana 
of  those  parts,  the  appellation  of  Robin  the  Devil. 

**  After  the  war  had  subsided,  and  the  direful  effects 
of  public  opposition  had  ceased,  revenge  and  malice 
long  kept  alive  the  animosity  of  indiWduals.  Colonel 
Briggs,  a  steady  friend  to  usurpation,  resided  at  this 
time  at  Kendal,  and,  under  the  double  character  of  a 
leading  magistrate  (for  he  was  a  Justice-of-Peace)  and 
an  active  commander,  held  the  country'  in  awe.  This 
person  having  heard  that  Major  Philipson  was  at  his 
brother's  house  on  the  island  in  ^Vindermere,  resolved, 
if  possible,  to  seize  and  punish  a  man  who  had  made 
himself  so  particularly  obnoxious.  How  it  was  con- 
ducted, my  authority  J  does  not  inform  us — whether 
he  got  together  the  navigation  of  the  lake,  and  block- 
aded the  place  by  sea,  or  whether  he  landed  and 
carried  on  his  approaches  in  form.  Neither  do  we 
learn  the  strength  of  the  gamson  within,  nor  of  the 
works  without.  All  we  learn  is.  that  Major  Philipson 
endured  a  siege  of  eight  months  with  great  gallantry, 
till  his  brother,  the  Colonel,  raised  a  party  and  relieved 
him. 

*'  It  was  now  the  Major's  turn  to  make  reprisals. 
He  put  himself,  therefore,  at  the  head  of  a  little  troop 
of  horse,  and  rode  to  Kendal.  Here,  being  informed 
ihat  Colonel  Briggs  was  at  prayers,  (for  it  was  on  a 
Sunday  morning.)  he  stationed  his  men  properly  in 
the  avenues,  and  himself  armed,  rode  directly  into  the 
church.  It  probably  was  not  a  regular  church,  but 
some  large  place  of  meeting.    It  is  said  he  intended 

1  Dr.  Bum's  History  of  Westmoreland. 
VOL.  IV.  23 


854  APPENDIX    TO    ROKEBT. 

to  seize  the  Colonel  and  carry  him  off;  but  as  this 
Beems  to  have  been  totally  impracticable,  it  is  rather 
probable  that  his  intention  was  to  kill  him  on  the  spot, 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  to  escape.  What- 
ever his  intention  was,  it  was  frustrated,  for  Briggs 
happened  to  be  elsewhere. 

"  The  congregation,  as  might  be  expected,  was 
thrown  into  great  confusion  on  seeing  an  armed  man 
on  horseback  make  his  appearance  among  them ;  and 
the  Major,  taking  advantage  of  their  astonishment, 
turned  his  horse  round,  and  rode  quietly  out.  But 
ha-snng  given  an  alarm,  he  was  presently  assaulted  as 
he  left  the  assembly,  and  being  seized,  his  girths  were 
cut,  and  he  was  unhorsed. 

"  At  this  instant  his  party  made  a  furious  attack  on 
the  assailants,  and  the  Major  killed  with  his  own  hand 
the  man  who  had  seized  him,  clapped  the  saddle, 
ungirthed  as  it  was,  upon  his  horse,  and,  vaulting  into 
it,  rode  full  speed  through  the  streets  of  Kendal,  call- 
ing his  men  to  follow  him  ;  and,  with  his  whole  party, 
made  a  safe  retreat  to  his  asylum  in  the  lake.  The 
action  marked  the  man.  Many  knew  him :  and  they 
who  did  not,  knew  as  well  from  the  exploit  that  it 
could  be  nobody  but  Robin  the  Devil." 


END    OP   NOTES   TO    ROKEBT. 


THK 


VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK 


Quid  dignum  memorare  ttUs,  Eispania,  ttrris, 

Vox  humana  vaUt ! 

Claudian.     Laus  Sevence,  v.  50. 


[The  Vision  of  Don  Koderick  appeared  in  4to,  in  Jane, 
1811 ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  same  year  was  also  inserted 
in  the  2d  volume  of  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register-— which 
work  was  the  property  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  then  publishetB, 
Messrs.  John  Ballantyne  and  Co.] 


PRETACE 


TUB  VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 


The  following  Poem  is  founded  upon  a  Spanish 
Tradition,  particularly  detailed  in  tlie  Notes ;  but 
bearing,  in  general,  that  Don  Roderick,  the  last 
Gothic  King  of  Spain,  when  the  Invasion  of  the 
Moors  was  impending,  had  the  temerity  to  descend 
into  an  ancient  vault,  near  Toledo,  the  opening  of 
which  had  been  denounced  as  fatal  to  the  Spanish 
Monarchy.  The  legend  adds,  that  his  rash  curi- 
osity was  mortified  by  an  emblematical  represen- 
tation of  those  Sai'acens  who,  in  the  year  714, 
defeated  him  in  battle,  and  reduced  Spain  under 
their  dominion.  I  have  presumed  to  prolong  the 
Vision  of  the  Revolutions  of  Spain  down  to  the 
present  eventful  crisis  of  the  Peninsula ;  and  to 
divide  it,  by  a  supposed  change  of  scene,  into 
Three  Periods.  The  First  of  these  repre- 
eents  the  Invasion  of  the  Moors,  the  Defeat  and 
Death  of  Roderick,  and  closes  with  the  peaceful 


358  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 

occupation  of  the  country  by  the  Victors.  The 
Second  Period  embraces  the  state  of  the 
Peninsula,  when  the  conquests  of  the  Spaniards 
and  Portuguese  in  the  East  and  West  Indies  had 
raised  to  the  highest  pitch  the  renown  of  their 
arms ;  sullied,  however,  by  superstition  and  cru- 
elty. An  allusion  to  the  inhumanities  of  the 
Inquisition  terminates  this  picture.  The  Last 
Part  of  the  Poem  opens  with  the  state  of  Spam 
previous  to  the  unparalleled  treacher}^  of  Bona- 
parte ;  gives  a  sketch  of  the  usurpation  attempted 
upon  tliat  unsuspicious  and  friendly  kingdom,  and 
terminates  with  the  arrival  of  the  British  succours. 
It  may  be  farther  proper  to  mention,  that  the 
object  of  the  Poem  is  less  to  commemorate  or 
detail  particular  incidents,  than  to  exhibit  a 
general  and  impressive  picture  of  the  several 
periods  brought  upon  the  stage. 

I  am  too  sensible  of  the  respect  due  to  the 
Public,  especially  by  one  who  has  already  expe- 
rienced more  than  ordinary  indulgence,  to  offer 
any  apology  for  the  inferiority  of  the  poetry  to 
the  subject  it  is  chiefly  designed  to  commemorate. 
Yet  I  think  it  proper  to  mention,  that  while  I 
was  hastily  executing  a  work,  written  for  a  tem- 
porary purpose,  and  on  passing  events,  the  task 
was  most  cruelly  interrupted  by  the  successive 
deaths  of  Lord  President  Blair,^  and  Lord 

1  [The  Right  Hon.  Robert  Blair  of  Avontoun,  President  of 
the  Co\irt  cf  Session,  was  the  son  of  tbe  Rev.  Robert  Blair, 


PRTIFACK.  359 

Viscount  Melville.  In  tliose  distinguished 
characters,  I  had  not  onlj  to  regret  persons  whose 
lives  were  most  important  to  Scotland,  but  also 
whose  notice  and  patronage  honoured  mr  entrance 
upon  active  life ;  and,  I  may  add,  with  meLincholj 
pride,  who  pennitted  ray  more  advanced  age  to 
claim  no  common  share  in  their  friendship.  Under 
such  interruptions,  the  following  verses,  which 
my  best  and  happiest  efforts  must  have  left  tiar 
unworthy  of  their  theme,  have,  I  am  myself 
sensible,  an  appearance  of  neghgence  and  inco- 
herence, which,  in  other  cii'cumstances,  I  might 
have  been  able  to  remove. 

.  Eddtbuegh,  June  24,  ISli. 


author  of  "  The  Grave."  After  long  filling  the  office  ot 
Solicitor-General  in  Scotland  with  high  distinction,  he  was 
elevated  to  the  Presidency  in  1808.  He  died  very  suddenly 
on  the  20th  May,  1811,  in  the  70th  year  of  his  age;  and  his 
intimate  friend,  Henry  Dundas,  first  Viscount  Melville, 
having  gone  into  Edinburgh  on  purpose  to  attend  his  remains 
to  the  grave,  was  taken  ill  not  less  suddenly,  and  died  there 
the  very  hour  that  the  funeral  took  place,  on  the  28tL  -^f  the 
aame  month.] 


VISION  OF  DOiN  RODERICK 


JOHN  WHITilORE,  ESQ. 

AJfD   TO   THE 

OOMailTTEE     OP     SUBSCRIBERS     FOR     RELIEF     OF     THB 
PORTUOCESK   SUFFERERS,  IN   WUICH    UE   PRESIDES, 

THIS    POEM 

(THE  VISION  OP  DON  RODERICK), 

C0MP08K1>  FOR  THB  BEXEFIT  OF  THE  FUXD  U^TDEB  TBKIB 
UAXAG£M£^'T, 

IS 

SESPECTFULLT  INSCBIBED 

BT 

WALTER  SCOTT. 


INTRODUCTION 


I. 

Lives  there  a  strain,  whose  sounds  of  mounting 
fire 
May  rise  distinguished  o*er  the  din  of  war ; 
Or  died  it  with  yon  Master  of  the  Lyre, 

Who  sung  beleaguered  Bion's  evil  star  ?  * 
Such,  Wellington,  might  reach   thee  from 
afar, 
Wafting  its  descant  wide  o'er  Ocean's  range ; 
Nor  shouts,  nor  clashing  arms,  its  mood  could 
mar. 
All  as  it  swell'd  'twixt  each  loud  trumpet- 
change,^ 
That  clangs  to  Britain  victory,  to  Portugal  re- 
venge ! 


f « 


1  [MS. — "  Who  sung  the  changes  of  the  Phrygian  jar.*'] 
«  [MS. — "  Claiming  thine  ear  'twixt  each  loud  trumpet- 
change."] 
'  fThe  too  monotonous  close  of  the  stanza  is  sometimes 
dive.*sified  by  the  adoption  of  the  fourteen-foot  verse, — a  li- 
cens*^  in  poetry,  which,  since  Dryden,  has  (we  believe)  been 
altogether  abandoned,  but  which  is,  nevertheless,  very  deserv- 
ing of  revival,  so  long  as  it  is  only  rarely  and  judiciously 


566  VISION  OF  Doa  koderick. 

II. 

Yes !    such    a   strain,   with  all  o'er-powering 
measure, 
Might  melodize  with  each  tumultuous  sound, 
Each  voice  of  fear  or  triumph,  woe  or  pleasure, 
That  rings  Mondego's  ravaged  shores  around  ; 
The  thund'ring    cry  of    hosts    with    conquest 
crown'd, 
The  female  shriek,  the  ruin'd  peasant's  moan, 
The  shout  of  captives,  from  their  chains  un- 
bound. 
The  foil'd  oppressor's  deep  and  sullen  groan, 
A.  Nation's  choral  hymn  for  tyranny  o'erthrown. 

III. 
But  we,  weak  minstrels  of  a  laggard  day, 

Skill'd  but  to  imitate  an  elder  page, 
Timid  and  raptureless,  can  we  repay  ^ 

The  debt  thou  claim'st  in  this  exhausted  age  ? 
Thou  givest  our  lyi'es  a  theme,  that  might  en- 

Those  that  could  send  thy  name  o'er  sea  and 
land, 
While  sea  and  land  shall  last ;  for  Homer's  rage 


ase^?.  The  very  flrst  stanza  in  this  poem  affords  an  instance 
">f  it-— and,  introduced  thus  in  the  verj'  front  of  the  battle,  we 
canno!:  help  considering  it  as  a  fault,  especially  clogged  as  it 
b  with  the  association  of  a  defective  rhyme — Change — Be 
venge." — Ci-itical  Revieio,  August,  1811.] 

1  [MS. — •'  Unfurm'd  for  raj)ture,  how  shall  we  repay."] 


INTRODUCTION.  367 

A  theme  ;  a  theme  for  ^Milton's  mighty  baud — 
How   much  unmeet   for  us,  a   faint   degenerate 
band!^ 

rv. 

Ye  mountains  stern!  within  whose  rugged  breast 

The  friends  of  Scottish  freedom  found  repo§e ; 

Ye  torrents  I  whose  hoarse  sounds  have  soothed 

their  rest, 

Returning  from  the  field  of  vanquish'd  foes  ; 

Say  have  ye  lost  each  wild  majestic  close, 

That  erst  the  choir  of  B:irds  or  Druids  flung  ; 
What  time  their  hymn  of  victory  arose, 

And  Cattraeth's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph 
rung, 
And  mystic  Merlin  harp'd,  and  grey-hair'd  Lly- 
warch  sung !  '^ 

1  [MS.  — "  Thou  girest  our  verse  a  theme  that  might  engage 
Lvres  that  could  richly  yield  thee  back  its  due ; 
A  theme,  might  kindle  Homer's  mighty  rage; 
A  theme,  more  grand  than  Marc  ever  knew  — 
How  much  unmeet  for  us,  degenerate,  frail,  and  few  I  "] 
'  This  locality  may  startle  those  readers  who  do  not  recol- 
Itit.  that  much  of  the  ancient  poetry-  preserved  in  Wales  re- 
fers less  to  the  historv-  of  the  Principality  to  which  that  name 
is  now  limited,  than  to  events  which  happened  in  the  north- 
west of  England,  and  southwest  of  Scotland,  where  the  Bri- 
tons for  a  long  time  made  a  stand  against  the  Saxons.     The 
battle  of  Cattraeth,  lamented  by  the  celebrated  Aneurin,  is 
supposed  by  the  learned  Dr.  T>eyden  to  have  been  fought  on 
the  skirts  of  Ettrick  Forest.     It  is  known  to  the  Engliab 
reader  by  the  paraphrase  of  Gray,  beginning, 
"  Had  I  but  the  torrent's  might, 
With  headlong  rage  and  wild  affri^t,"  &e. 


368  7ISI0N    OF    DON    llODERICK. 

V. 

O !  if  your  wilds  such  minstrelsy  retain, 

As  sure  your  changeful  gales  seem  oft  to  say, 

But  it  is  not  so  generally  known  that  the  champions,  mourned 
in  this  beautiful  dirge,  were  the  British  inhabitants  of  Edin- 
burgh, who  were  cut  off  by  the  Saxons  of  Deiria,  or  North- 
umberland, about  the  latter  part  of  the  sixth  century.— 
Tur:ner's  Eistory  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  edition  1799,  vol.  i.  p. 
222.— Llywarch,  the  celebrated  bard  and  monarch,  was 
Prince  of  Argood,  in  Cumberland;  and  his  youthful  exploits 
were  performed  upon  the  Border,  although  in  his  age  he  was 
driven  into  Powys  by  the  successes  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  As 
for  Merlin  Wyllt,  or  the  Savage,  his  name  of  Caledonia,  and 
his  retreat  hito  the  Caledonian  wood,  appropriate  him  to 
Scotland.  Fordun  dedicates  the  thirty-first  chapter  of  the 
third  book  of  his  Scoto-Chronicon,  to  a  narration  of  the 
death  of  this  celebrated  bard  and  prophet  near  Drumel- 
zier,  a  village  upon  Tweed,  which  is  supposed  to  have 
derived  its  name  {qiKJsi  Tumulus  Merlini)  from  the  event. 
The  particular  spot  in  which  he  is  buried  is  still  shown, 
and  appears,  from  the  following  quotation,  to  have  pai> 
taken  of  his  prophetic  qualities:— "  There  is  one  thing  re- 
markable here,  which  is,  that  the  burn  called  Pausayl  runs 
by  the  east  side  of  this  churchyard  into  the  Tweed ;  at  tlie 
Bide  of  which  burn,  a  little  below  the  churchyard,  the  famous 
prophet  Merlin  is  said  to  be  buried.  The  particular  place  of 
his  grave,  at  the  root  of  a  thorn-tree,  was  shown  me,  many 
years  ago,  by  the  old  and  reverend  minister  of  the  place,  Mr. 
Eichard  Brown ;  and  here  was  the  old  prophecy  fulfilled,  de- 
livered in  Scots  rhyme,  to  this  purpose  :— 

'  When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  meet  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  Monarch  have.' 
vFor  the  same  day  that  our  King  James  the  Sixth  was 
*.iOK'ned  King  of  England,  the  river  Tweed,  by  an  extra 
ordinary  flood,  so  far  overflowed  its  banks,  that  it  met  and 
joined  with  the  Pausayl  at  the  said  grave,  which  was  never 
before  observed  to  fall  out."— Pennycuick\s  Desci-ijition  oj 
Tiveeddale.    Edinb.  1715,  iv.  p.  26. 


iNTRODtCTION.  369 

Wlien  sweeping  wild  and  sinking  soft  again, 
Like  trumpet-jubilee,  or  harp's  wild  sway ; 
If  je  can  echo  such  triumphant  lay, 

Then  lend  the  note   to   him  has  loved  you 
long ! 
Who  pious  gather  d  each  tradition  grey, 
Tliat  floats  your  sohtary  wastes  along, 
And  with  affection  vain  gave  them  new  voice  m 
song. 

VT. 

For  not  till  now,  how  oft  soe'er  the  task 

Of  truant  verse  hath  lighten'd  graver  care, 
From  Muse  or  Sylvan  was  he  wont  to  ask. 

In  phrase  poetic,  inspiration  fair ; 
Careless  he  gave  his  numbers  to  the  air, 

They  came  unsought  for.  if  applauses  came ; 
Nor  for  liiraself  prefers  he  now  the  prayer ; 

Let  but  his  verse  befit  a  hero's  fame. 
Immortal  be  the  verse  !— forgot  the  poet's  name. 

VII. 

Hark,  from  yon  misty  cairn  their  answer  tost :  ' 
«  !^Iinstrel !  the  fame  of  who-^e  romantic  lyre, 

Capricious-sweUing  now,  may  soon  be  lost, 
Like  the  light  flickering  of  a  cottage  fire ; 

If  to  such  task  presumptuous  thou  aspire. 
Seek  not  from  us  the  meed  to  warrior  due : 


^  'MS.—"  Hark,  from  grey  Needpath's  mists,  the  Brothers 
cairn. 
Hark,  from  the  Brothers'  cairn  the  answer  tost 


caim.  I 
"1» 

VOL.  IV.  24 


870  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 

Age  after  age  has  gather'd  sod  to  sire, 

Since  our  grey  cliffs  the  din  of  conflict  knew, 
Or,  pealing  through  our  vales,  victorious  bugles 
blew. 

VIII. 

"  Decayed  our  old  traditionary  lore, 

Save  where  the  lingering  fays  renew  their 
ring, 
By  milk-maid  seen  beneath  the  hawthorn  hoar, 
Or  round  the  marge  of  Minchmore's  haunted 
sprmgj^ 
Save  where  their  legends  grey-hair*d  shepherds 
sing, 
That   now  scarce  win  a   listening   ear   but 
thine, 
v>f  feuds  obscure,  and  Border  ravaging. 
And  rugged  deeds  recount  in  rugged  line, 
Oi'  moonlight  foray  made  on   Teviot,  Tweed,  or 
Tyne. 

IX. 

•'  No !   search  romantic  lands,  where  the  near 
Sun 
Gives  with  unstinted  boon  ethereal  flame. 


I  A  belief  in  the  existence  and  nocturnal  revels  of  the 
fairies  still  lingers  among  the  vulgar  in  Selkirkshire.  A 
copious  fountain  upon  the  ridge  of  Minchmore,  called  the 
Cheesewell,  is  supposed  to  be  sacred  to  these  Hinciful  spirits, 
and  it  was  customary  to  propitiate  them  by  throwing  in 
lomething  upon  passing  it. .  A  pin  was  the  usual  oblatitwi; 
and  the  ceremony  is  still  sometimes  practised,  though  rathe; 
m  jest  than  earnest. 


VSTRODUCTIOS.  371 

Vrhere  the  rude  villager,  his  labour  done, 
In  verse  spontaneous  ^  chants  some  favoured 
name, 
Whether  Olalia's  charms  his  tribute  claim, 

Her  eye  of  diamond,  and  her  locks  of  jet ; 
Or  whether,  kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Graeme,* 
He  sing,  to  wild  Morisco  measure  set, 
Old  Albin*s  red  claymore,  green  Erin's  bayonet  I 


X. 

"  Explore  those  regions,  where  the  flinty  crest 

Of  wild  Nevada  ever  gleams  with  snows, 
Where  in  the  proud  Alhambra's  ruin'd  breast 

Barbaric  monuments  of  pomp  repose ; 
Or  where  the  banners  of  more  ruthless  foes 
Than  the   fierce    Moor,  float   o'er  Toledo's 
fane, 
From  whose  tall  towers   even  now  the  patriot 
throws 


1  The  flexibility  of  the  Italian  and  Spanish  languages,  and 
perhaps  the  liveliness  of  their  genius,  renders  these  countries 
distinguished  for  the  talent  of  improvisation,  which  is  found 
even  among  the  lowest  of  the  people.  It  is  mentioned  by 
Baretti  and  other  travellers. 

2  Over  a  name  sacred  for  ages  to  heroic  verse,  a  poet  may 
be  allowed  to  exercise  some  power.  I  have  used  the  free- 
dom, here  and  elsewhere,  to  alter  the  orthogmpliy  of  the 
name  of  my  gallant  countryman,  in  order  to  apprise  the 
Southern  reader  of  its  legitimate  sound ; — Grahame  being,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Tweed,  usnally  pronounced  as  a  dissyl- 
lable. 


872  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK 

An  anxious  glance,  to  spy  upon  the  plain 
The  blended  ninks  of  England,   Portugal,  and 
Spain. 

XI. 

"  There,  of  Numantian  fire  a  swarthy  spark 

Still  lightens  in  the  sunburnt  native's  eye ; 
The  stately  port,  slow  step,  and  visage  dark. 

Still  mark  enduring  pride  and  constancy. 
And,  if  the  glow  of  feudal  chivalry 

Beam  not,  as  once,  thy  nobles'  dearest  pride, 
Iberia !  oft  thy  crestless  peasantry 

Have  seen  the  plumed  Hidalgo  quit  their  side, 
Have  seen,  yet  dauntless  stood — ^'gainst  fortune 
fought  and  died. 

xn. 
"  And  cherish'd  still  by  that  unchanging  race,* 
Are  themes  for  minstrelsy  more  high  than 
thine; 
Of  strange  tradition  many  a  mystic  trace. 
Legend  and  vision,  prophecy  and  sign ; 
Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 

With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade, 
Forming  a  model  meet  for  minstrel  line. 
.Go,  seek  such  theme ! " — The  Mountain  Spirit 
said: 
With  fihal  awe  I  heard — I  heard,  and  I  obey*d.* 

1  [MS.— "And  lingering  still  mid  that  unchanging  race."] 
«  ["  The  Introduction,  we  confess,"   savs  the  Quarterly 
Beriewer,  "  does  not  please  us  so  well  as '  the  rest  of  the 


lyTBODrcnox.  373 


tltoa^  Ae  nplj  of  die  Momitaiii  Spirit  is  exqiuritelj 
written.'*  The  Edmbnisli  critic^  after  qaOGns  stunas  is.  x. 
■nd  xL  ■Kj»-->  TheLitiodbctioo,  tfaoD^qilendidl^ 
too  kmg  fior  80  short  m  poem;  and  the  poeCTs  ^alogiie  via  ha 
liaiiie  wmmihi^wmi  is  aonewhat  too  stazdnig  and  imnatiiiaL 
The  mort  lyirited  put  of  it*  vo  tinnk  is  their  diiectiop  to 
Spaaish  tfaomei.'*] 


THE 


VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK 


I. 

Rearing  their  crests  amid  the  cloudless  skies, 

And  darkly  clustering  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Toledo's  holy  towers  and  spires  arise, 

As  from  a  trembling  lake  of  silver  white, 
'.rheu'  mingled  shadows  intercept  the  sight 

Of  the  broad  burial-ground  outstretch'd  below. 
And  nought  disturbs  the  silence  of  the  night ; 

All  sleeps  in  sullen  shade,  or  silver  glow, 
All  save  the  heavy  swell  of  Teio's  ceaseless  flow.^ 

1  [The  Monthly  Review,  for  ISll,  in  quoting  this  stanza, 
Bays, — "  Scarcely  any  poet,  of  any  age  or  country,  has  excelled 
Mr.  Scott  in  bringing  before  our  sight  the  very  scene  which 
he  is  describing — in  giving  a  reality  of  existence  to  every 
object  on  which  he  dwells;  and  it  is  on  such  occasions, 
especially  suited  as  they  seem  to  the  habits  of  his  naind,  that 
his  style  itself  catches  a  character  of  hamiony,  which  is  far 
from  being  universally  its  own.  Flow  vivid,  yet  how  soft,  is 
this  picture! "] 


DON    RODERICK.  375 

II. 

All  save  the  rushing  swell  of  Teio's  tide, 

Or,  distant  heard,  a  courser's  neigh  or  tramp ; 

Their  changing  rounds  as  watchful  horsemen 

ride, 

To  guard  the  limits  of  King  Roderick's  camp. 

For,  through  the  river's  night-fog  rolling  damp, 

Was  many  a  proud  pavilion  dimly  Socn,^ 
Which  glimmer'd  back,  against  the  moon's  fair 
lamp. 
Tissues  of  silk  and  silver  twisted  sheen, 
And  standards  proudly  pitch'd,  and  warders  arm'd 
between. 

III. 
But  of  their  Monarch's  person  keepmg  -ward, 
Since  last  the  deep-mouth'd  bell  of  vespers 
toll'd. 
The  chosen  soldiei*s  of  the  royal  guard 

The  post  beneath  the  proud  Cathedi-al  hold : 
A  band  unlike  their  Gothic  sires  of  old. 

Who,  for  the  cap  of  steel  and  iron  mace, 

Bear  slender  darts,*  and  casques  bedeck'd  with 

gold,  [gi-ace. 

While   silver-studded  belts    their   shoulders 

Where  ivory  quivers  ring  in  the  broad  falchion's 

place.' 

1  [>js.— ^  For,  stretch'd  beside  the  river's  margin  damp, 
Tbeir  proud  pavilions  hide  the  meadow  green."] 
«  [MS-—"  Bore  javelins  slight,"  &c.] 
«  [The  Critical  Reviewer,  having  quoted  stanzas  i.  ii  tnd 


576  THE    VISION    OP 

IV. 

In  the  light  language  of  an  idle  court, 

They  murmur'd  at  their  master's  long  delay, 

And  held  his  lengthen'd  orisons  in  sport : — 
"  What !  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morning 
stay, 

To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 
And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past, 

For  fair  Florinda's  plunder'd  charms  to  pay  ?  "  ' 

iii.  says, — "  To  the  specimens  with  which  his  former  works 
abound,  of  Mr.  Scott's  unrivalled  excellence  in  the  descrip- 
tions, both  of  natural  scenery  and  romantic  manners  and 
costume,  these  stanzas  will  be  thought  no  mean  addition."] 

1  Almost  all  the  Spanish  historians,  as  well  as  the  voice  of 
tradition,  ascribe  the  invasion  of  the  Moors  to  the  forcible 
violation  committed  by  Roderick  upon  Florinda,  called  by 
the  Moors,  Caba  or  Cava.  She  was  the  daughter  of  Count 
Julian,  one  of  the  Gothic  monarch's  principal  lieutenants, 
who,  wlien  the  crime  was  perpetrated,  was  engaged  in  the 
defence  of  Ceuta  against  the  Moors.  In  bis  indignation  at 
the  ingratitude  of  his  sovereign,  and  tlie  dishonour  of  his 
daughter.  Count  Julian  forgot  the  duties  of  a  Christian  and 
a  patriot,  and  forming  an  alliance  with  Musa,  then  the  caliph's 
lieutenant  in  Africa,  he  countenanced  the  invasion  of  Spain 
by  a  body  of  Saracens  and  Africans,  commanded  by  the 
celebrated  Tarik;  the  issue  of  which  was  the  defeat  and 
death  of  Roderick,  and  the  occupation  of  almost  the  whole 
peninsula  by  the  Moors.  Voltaire,  in  his  General  History, 
expresses  his  doubts  of  this  popular  story,  and  Gibbon  gives 
him  some  countenance;  but  the  universal  tradition  is  quite 
BufEcient  for  the  purposes  of  poetry.  The  Spaniards,  in 
detestation  of  Florinda's  memorj^,  are  said,  by  Cervantes, 
never  to  bestow  that  name  upon  any  human  female,  reserving 
it  for  their  dogs.  Nor  is  the  tradition  less  inveterate  among 
the  Moors,  since  the  same  author  mentions  a  promontory  on 


DON    RODERICK.  377 

Then  to  the  east  their  weary  eyes  they  cast, 
^d  wish'd  the  lingering  dawn  would  glimmer 
forth  at  last 

V. 

But,  far  within,  Toledo's  Prelate  lent 

An  ear  of  fearful  wonder  to  the  King ; 
The  silver  lamp  a  fitful  lustre  sent, 

So  long  that  sad  confession  witnessing : 
For  Roderick  told  of  many  a  hidden  thing 

Such  as  are  loathly  utter'd  to  the  air, 
When  Fear.  Remorse,  and  Shame,  the  bosom 
vnring, 
And  Guilt  his  secret  burden  cannot  bear, 
And  Conscience  seeks  in  speech  a  respite  from 
Despair. 

VI. 

Full  on  the  Prelate's  face,  and  silver  hair, 
The  stream  of  failing  light  was  feebly  roU'd : ' 

But  Roderick's  visage,  though  his  head  was  bare, 
Was  shadow'd  by  his  hand  and  mantle's  fold. 

th3  coast  of  Barbary,  called  "The  Cape  of  the  Caba  Bumia, 
which,  in  our  tongue,  is  the  Cape  of  the  Wicked  Christian 
Woman ;  and  it  is  a  tradition  among  the  Moors,  that  Caba, 
Ihe  daughter  of  Count  Julian,  who  was  the  cause  of  the  losa 
of  Spuin,  lies  buried  there,  and  they  think  it  ominous  to  b€ 
forced  into  that  bay ;  for  they  never  go  in  otherwise  than  by 
oecessity."] 
1  [MS.—"  The  feeble  lamp  in  dying  lustre  j 

The  waves  of  broken  light  were  feebly  i  •' 


378  THE    \1S10N    OY 

While  of  his  hidden  soul  the  sins  he  told, 

Proud  Alaric's  descendant  could  not  brook,* 
That  mortal  man  his  bearing  should  behold, 
Or  boast  that  he  had  seen,  when  Conscience 
shook. 
Fear  tame  a  monarch's  brow,  Remorse  a  war- 
rior's look.^ 

»  [  ilS. — "  The  haughty  monarch's  heart  could  evil  brook."] 

2  [The  Quarterly  Keviewer  says, — "  The  moonlight  scenery 
of  the  camp  and  burial-ground  is  evidently  by  the  same 
powerful  hand  which  sketched  the  Abbey  of  Melrose ;  and 
in  this  picture  of  Roderick's  confession,  there  are  traits  of 
even  a  higher  cast  of  sublimity  and  pathos." 

The  Edinburgh  Keviewer  introduces  his  quotations  of  the 
i.  ii.  V.  and  vi.  stanzas  thus, — "  The  poem  is  substantially 
divided  into  two  compartments ; — the  one  representing  the 
fabulous  or  prodigious  acts  of  Don  Eoderick's  own  time,— 
and  the  other  the  recent  occurrences  which  have  since  sig- 
nalized the  same  quarter  of  the  world.  Mr.  Scott,  we  think, 
is  most  at  home  in  the  first  of  these  fields;  and  we  think, 
upon  the  whole,  has  most  success  in  it.  The  opening  afTorda 
a  fine  specimen  of  his  unrivalled  powers  of  description." 

The  reader  may  be  gratified  with  having  the  following  lines 
from  IMr.  Southey's  Koderick  inserted  here: — 


-"  Then  Koderick  knelt 


Before  the  holy  man,  and  strove  to  speak: 

'  Thou  seest,'  he  cried, — *  thou  seest ' — but  memory 

And  suffocating  thoughts  represt  the  word. 

And  shudderings,  like  an  ague  fit,  from  head 

To  foot  convulsed  him;  till  at  length,  subduing 

His  nature  to  the  effort,  he  exclaira'd, 

Spreading  his  hands,  and  lifting  up  his  fiice, 

As  if  resolved  in  penitence  to  bear 

A  human  eye  upon  his  shame — '  Thou  seest 

Roderick  the  Goth !    That  name  would  have  sufficed 


DON    RODERICK.  379 

Til. 

The  old   man's  faded  cheek  wax'd  yet  more 
pale,  * 

As  many  a  secret  sad  the  King  bewray*d  ; 
As  sign  and  glance  eked  out  the  unfmish'd  tale, 
When    in    the    midst  his   faltering  whisper 
staid. — 
"  Thus  royal  TVitiza  ^  was  slain," — he  said  ; 

"  Yet,  holy  Father,  deem  not  it  was  I." 
Thus    still    Ambition    strives    her    crimes    to 
shade. — 
"  Oh  rather  deem  'twas  stem  necessity  1 
Self-preservation  bade,  and  I  must  kill  or  die. 

VIII. 

**  And  if  Florinda's  shrieks  alarm'd  the  air, 
If  she  invoked  her  absent  sire  in  vain, 

To  tell  its  whole  abhorred  history: 

He  not  the  less  pursued, — the  ravisher, 

The  canse  of  all  this  ruin! '     Having  said, 

In  the  same  posture  motionless  he  knelt, 

Arms  straiten'd  down,  and  hands  outspread,  and  eyes 

Raised  to  the  Monk,  like  one  who  from  his  voice 

Awaited   life  or  death." —  c  i. 

Mr.  Southey,  in  a  note  to  these  lines,  says,  "  The  Vision 
Df  Don  Roderick  supplies  a  singular  contrast  to  the  picture 
which  is  represented  in  this  passage.  I  have  great  pleasure 
in  quoting  the  stanzas  (v.  and  vi.);  if  the  contrast  had  been 
•ntentional,  it  could  not  have  been  more  complete."] 

1  The  predecessor  of  Roderick  upon  the  Spanish  throne, 
and  slain  by  his  connivance,  as  is  affirmed  by  Rodriguez  of 
Toledo,  the  father  of  Spanish  history. 


380  THE    VISION    OF 

And  on  her  knees  implored  that  I  would  spare, 
Yet,  reverend  priest,  thy  sentence  rash  re- 
frain ! —    * 
All  is  not  as  it  seems — the  female  train 

BInow  by  their   bearing   to   disguise   their 
mood : " — 
But  Conscience  here,  as  if  in  high  disdain, 
Sent  to    the  Monarch's  cheek  the  burning 
blood — 
He  sta/d  his  speech  abrupt — and  up  the  Prelate 
stood. 

IX. 

'*  O  harden'd  offspring  of  an  iron  race  ! 

What  of  thy  crimes,  Don   Roderick,  shall  I 
say? 
What  alms,  or  prayers,  or  penance,  can  efface 
Murder's   dark   spot,   wash   treason's    stain 
away! 
For  the  foul  ravisher  how  shall  I  pray, 

Who,  scarce  repentant,  makes  his  crime  hia 
boast  ? 
How  hope  Almighty  vengeance  shall  delay, 
Unless,  in  mercy  to  yon  Christian  host. 
He  spare  the  shepherd,^  lest  the  guiltless  sheep  be 
lost."— 


'  [MS. — "  Ho  spare  to  smite  the  shepherd,  lest  tne  sheep 
&e  lost."] 


DON    RODERICK.  381 

X. 

Then  kindled  the  dark  Tyrant  in  his  mood, 

And  to  his  brow  retura'd  its  dauntless  gloom  ; 
"  And  welcome  then,'*  he  cried,  "  be  blood  for 
blood. 
For  treason  treachery,  for  dishonour  doom  ! 
Yet   will  I  know  whence   come   they,  or  by 
whom. 
Show,  for  thou  canst — give  forth  the  fated 
key, 
And  guide  me.  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room,^ 
Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be. 
His  nation's  future  fates  a  Spanish  King  shall 
see."— 2 

XI. 

**  Ill-fated  Prince  !  recall  the  desperate  word, 

Or  pause  ere  yet  the  omen  thou  obey ! 
Bethink,  yon  spell-bound  portal  would  afford  • 

Never  to  former  Monarch  entrance-way ; 
Nor  shall  it  ever  ope,  old  records  say. 

Save  to  a  King,  the  last  of  all  his  line, 
What  time  his  empire  totters  to  decay, 

And  treason  digs,  beneath,  her  fatal  mine, 
^d,  high   above,  impends  avenging  wrath  di- 
vine." 

1  [MS. — "  And  gnide  me,  prelate,  to  that  secret  room."J 
»  [See  Appendix,  Note  A.] 

■  [MS. — "  Or  pause  the  omen  of  thy  fate  to  weigh  I 
Bethink  that  brazen  portal  would  afford."] 


382  THE    VISION    OF 


XII. 

"  Prelate !  a  Monarch's  fate  brooks  no  delay  ; 
Lead  on  ! " — The  ponderous  key  the  old  mat 
took, 
And  held  the  winking  lamp,  and  led  the  way, 
By   winding    stair,   dark    aisle,   and   secret 
nook, 
Then  on  an  ancient  gateway  bent  his  look ; 

And,  as  the  key  the  desperate  King  essay'd, 
Low  mutter'd  thunders  the  Cathedral  shook. 
And  twice  he   stopp'd,  and  twice  new  effort 
made. 
Till  the  huge  bolts   roll'd   back,    and   the   loud 
hinges  bray'd. 

XIII. 

Long,  large,  and  lofty,  was  that  vaulted  hall ; 
Roof,  walls,  and  floor,  were  all  of  marble 
stone. 
Of  polish'd  marble,  black  as  funeral  pall. 
Carved  o'er  with   signs  and  characters  un- 
known. 
A  paly  light,  as  of  the  dawning,  shone 

Through  the  sad  bounds,  but  whence  they 
could  not  spy ; 
For  window  to  the  upper  air  was  none  ; 

Yet,  by  that  light,  Don  Roderick  could  descry 
Wonders  that  ne'er  till  then  were   seen  by  mortal 
eye. 


DON    RODERICK.  383 


XIV. 

Grim  sentinek,  against  the  upper  wall, 

Of  molten  bronze,  two  Statues  held  their 
place ; 
Massive  their  naked  limbs,  their  stature  tall, 
Their    frowning    foreheads    golden    circles 
grace. 
Moulded  they  seem'd  for  kings  of  giant  race, 
That  lived  and  sinn'd  before  the  avenging 
flood; 
This  grasp'd  a  scythe,  that  rested  on  a  mace ; 
This  spread  his  wings  for  flight,  that  ponder- 
ing stood. 
Each  stubborn  seem'd  and  stem,  immutable  of 
mood. 

XV. 

Fix'd  was  the  right-hand  Giant's  brazen  look 

Upon  his  brother's  glass  of  shifting  sand, 
As  if  its  ebb  he  measured  by  a  book, 

Whose  iron  volume  loaded  his  huge  hand ; 
In  which  was  wrote  of  many  a  falling  land, 

Of  empires  lost,  and  kings  to  exile  driven : 
And  o'er  that  pair   their  names  in   scroll    ex- 
pand— 
"Lo,   Destiny   and  Time!    to   whom   by 
Heaven 
rhe  g;iidauce  of  the  earth  is  for  a  season  given." — 


384  THE    VISION    OF 


XVI. 

Even  while  they  read,  the  sand-glass  wastes 
away ; 
And,  as  the  last  and  lagging  grains  did  creep 
That  right-hand    Giant   'gan    his    club  ^   up- 
sway, 
As  one  that  startles  from  a  heavy  sleep. 
Full  on  the  upper  wall  the  mace's  sweep 

At  once  descended  with  the  force  of  thunder, 
And  hurthng  down  at  once,  in  crumbled  heap, 
The  marble  boundary  was  rent  asunder, 
And  gave  to  Roderick's  view  new  sights  of  fear 
and  wonder. 

XVII. 

For  they  might  spy,  beyond  that  mighty  breach, 
Realms  as  of  Spain  in  vision'd  prospect  laid, 
Castles  and  towers,  in  due  proportion  each, 

As  by  some  skilful  ai-tist's  hand  pourtray'd : 
Here,  crossed  by  many  a  wild  Sierra's  shade. 
And  boundless  plains  that  tire  the  traveller's 
eye; 
There,  rich   with   vineyard    and    with    olive 
glade, 
Or  deep-embrown'd  by  forests  huge  and  high, 
i)r  wash'd  by  mighty  streams,  that  slowly  mur 
mur'd  by. 

1  [MS. — "  Arm — mace — c/«6."] 


DON    RODERICK.  385 


xvin. 

And  here,  as  erst  upon  the  antique  stage 

Pass*d  forth  the  band  of  masquers  trimly  led 
In  various  forms,  and  various  equipage, 

TVhile  fitting  strains  the  heai-er's  fancy  fed ; 
So,  to  sad  Roderick's  eye  in  order  spread, 

Successive  pageants  fill'd  that  mystic  scene, 
Showing  the  fate  of  battles  ere  they  bled. 

And  issue  of  events  that  had  not  been ; 
And,  ever  and  anon,  strange  sounds  were  heard 
between. 


XIX. 

First  shrill'd  an  unrepeated  female  shriek  ! — 
It  seem'd  as  if  Don  Roderick  knew  the  call, 

For  the  bold  blood  was  blanching  in  his  cheek.— 
Then  answer'd  kettle-drum  and  atabal, 

Gong-peal  and  cymbal-clank  the  ear  appall, 
The  Tecbir  war-cry,  and  the  Lelie's  yell,^ 

*  The  Tecbir  (derived  from  the  words  AUa  acbar,  God  is 
most  mighty)  was  the  original  war-cry  of  the  Saracens.  It 
is  celebrated  by  Hughes  in  the  siege  of  Damascus:  A.  ii.  Sc.  i. 

"  We  heard  the  Tecbir;   so  these  Arabs  call 
Their  shout  of  onset,  when,  with  loud  appeal, 
They  challenge  Heaven,  as  if  demanding  conquest." 

The  Lelie,  well  known  to  tlie  Christians  during  the  crusades, 
is  the  sliout  of  Alia  ilia  Alia,  the  Mahoraedan  confession  of 
faith.  It  is  twice  used  in  poetry  by  my  friend  Mr.  W.  Stewart 
Rose,  in  the  Romance  of  Partenopex,  and  in  the  Crusade  of 
6t.  Lewis. 

^OL.  IV.  25 


386  THE    VISION    OF 

Bing  wildly  dissonant  along  the  halL 

Needs  not  to  Roderick  their  dread  Import 
tell— 
"The  Moor!**  he  cried,  "the  Moor! — ring  oat 
the  Tocsin  beU ! 

XX. 

**They  come!  they  come!  I  see  the  groaning 
lands 
White  with  the  turbans  of  each  Arab  horde  ; 

Swart  Zaarah  joins  her  misbelieving  bands. 

Alia  and  Mahomet  their  battle-word. 
The  choice  they  yield,  the  Koran  or  the  Sword — 
See  how  the  Christians  rush  to  arms  amain  ! — 
In  yonder  shoot  the  voice  of  conflict  roar*d,* 
The  shadowy  hosts  are  dosing  on  the  plain- 
Now,   God  and  Saint  lago  strike,  for  the  good 
cause  of  Spain ! 

**By  Heaven,  the  Moors  prevail!  the  Chri* 
tians  yield ! — 
Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign 

1  ["  Oh,  who  coald  tell  what  deeds  were  wrou^t  that  day 

Or  who  endure  to  hear  the  tale  of  rage. 

Hatred,  and  madness,  and  despair,  and  fear, 

Horror,  and  wounds,  and  agony,  and  death, 

The  cries,  the  bla'phemies,  the  shrieks,  and  groans. 

And  prayer*,  which  mingled  with  the  din  of  arm=. 

In  one  wild  nproar  of  terrific  sotin  i«." 

SoCTHEY's  Bodei-ick,  C  XXT.] 


DOJ»    RODERICK.  387 

The  sceptred  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field- 
Is  not  Ton  steed  Orelia? — Yes,  'tis  mine  !  * 
But  never  was  she  tum*d  from  battle-line : 


1  Count  Julian,  the  father  of  the  injured  Florinda,  with  the 
•onnivance  and  assistance  of  Oppas,  Archbishop  of  Toledo, 
tavited  in  713,  the  Saracens  into  Spain.  A  considerable  army 
arrived  under  the  command  of  Tarik,  or  Tarif,  who  bequeathed 
the  well-known  name  of  Gibifiltar  (Gibel  al  Tarik,  or  the 
mountain  of  Tarik)  to  the  place  of  his  landing.  He  was 
joined  by  Count  Julian,  ravaged  Andalusia,  and  took  Seville. 
In  714,  they  returned  with  a  still  greater  force,  and  Roderick 
marched  into  Andalusia  at  the  head  of  a  great  army,  to  give 
them  battle.  The  field  was  chosen  near  Xeres,  and  Mariana 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  action: — 

•'  Both  armies  being  drawn  up,  the  King,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  Gothic  kings  when  they  went  to  battle,  af>- 
peared  in  an  ivory  chariot,  clothed  in  cloth  of  gold,  encourag- 
ing his  men ;  Tarif,  on  the  other  side,  did  the  same.  The 
armies,  thus  prepared,  waited  only  for  the  signal  to  fall  on; 
the  Goths  gnve  the  charge,  their  drums  and  trumpets  sound- 
ing, and  the  Moors  received  it  with  the  noise  of  kettle-drums. 
Such  were  the  shouts  and  cries  on  both  sides,  that  the  moun- 
tains and  valleys  seemed  to  meet.  First,  they  began  with 
slings,  diirts,  javelins,  and  lances,  then  came  to  the  swords; 
a  lo:ig  time  the  battle  was  dubious;  but  the  Moors  seemed  to 
have  the  worst,  till  D.  Oppas,  the  archbishop,  having  to  that 
time  concealed  his  treachery,  in  the  heat  of  the  fight,  with  a 
great  body  of  his  followers,  went  over  to  the  infidels.  He 
joined  Count  Julian,  with  whom  was  a  great  numbei  of  Goths, 
and  both  together  fell  upon  the  flank  of  our  array.  Our  men, 
terrified  with  that  unparalleled  treachery,  and  tired  with 
fighting,  could  no  longer  sustain  that  char;,'p,  but  were  easily 
put  to  flight.  The  King  performed  the  part  not  only  of  a  wise 
^neral,  but  of  a  resolute  soldier,  relieving  the  weakest,  bring- 
ing on  fresh  men  in  place  of  those  that  were  tire  1,  and  stop- 
ping those  that  turned  their  backs.     At  length,  seeing  no 


888  THE    VISION    OP 

Lo !  where  the  recreant  spurs  o'er  stock  and 

stone ! — 
Curses  pursue  the  slave,  and  wrath  divme ! 
Rivers  ingulf  him  !  " — "  Hush,"  in  shudder- 
ing tone, 
The  Prelate   said ;    "  rash  Prince,    yon    vision'd 
form's  thine  own." 


xxn. 
Just  then,  a  torrent  cross'd  the  flier',s  course ; 
The   dangerous   ford   the    Elingly   Likeness 
tried ; 
But  the  deep  eddies  whelm'd  both  man  and 
horse, 

hopes  left,  he  alighted  out  of  his  chariot  for  fear  of  being 
taken,  and  mounting  on  a  horse,  called  Orelia,  he  withdrew 
out  of  the  battle.  The  Goths,  Avho  still  stood,  missing  him, 
were  most  part  put  to  the  sword,  the  rest  betook  themselves 
to  flight.  The  camp  was  immediately  entered,  and  the  bag- 
gage taken.  What  number  was  killed  is  not  known;  I  sup 
pose  they  were  so  many  it  was  hard  to  count  therri ;  for  this 
single  battle  robbed  Spain  of  all  its  glory,  and  in  it  perished 
the  renowned  name  of  the  Goths.  The  King's  horse,  upper 
gannent,  and  buskins,  covered  with  pearls  and  precious 
Btoncs,  were  found  on  the  bank  of  the  River  Guadelite,  and 
there  being  no  news  of  him  afterwards,  it  v/as  suj)posed  he 
was  drowned  passing  the  river." — Maeia.na's  Uistory  of  Spain^ 
book  vi.  chap.  9. 

Orelia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  mentioned  in  the  text, 
and  in  tlie  above  quotation,  was  celebrated  for  her  speed  and 
form.  She  is  mentioned  repeatedly  in  Spanish  romance,  and 
J.160  by  Cervantes, 


DON    RODERICK.  389 

Swept  like  benighted  peasant  down  the  tide  ;* 
And  the  proud  Moslemah  spread  far  and  wide, 

As  numerous  as  their  native  locust  band ; 
Berber  and  Ismael's  sons  the  spoils  divide, 
With  naked  scimitars  mete  out  the  land, 
And  for  the  bondsman  base  the  freebora  natives 
brand. 

XXIII. 

Then  rose  the  grated  Harem,  to  enclose 
The  loveliest  maidens  of  the  Christian  line ; 

Then,  menials,  to  their  misbelieving  foes, 

Castile's  young   nobles  held  forbidden  wine  ; 

Then,  too,  the  holy  Cross,  salvation's  sign, 
By  impious  hands  was  from  the  altar  thrown, 

And  the  deep  aisles  of  the  polluted  shrine 


[ "  Upon  the  banks 

Of  Sella  was  Orelia  found,  his  legs 
And  flanks  incarnadined,  his  poitrel  smear'd 
With  froth  and  foam  and  gore,  his  silver  mane 
Sprinkled  with  blood,  which  hung  on  every  hair, 
Aspersed  like  dewdrops;  trembling  there  he  stood. 
From  the  toil  of  battle,  and  at  times  sent  forth 
His  tremulous  voice,  far-echoing,  loud,  and  shrill, 
A  frequent,  anxious  cry,  with  which  ae  seem'd 
To  call  the  master  whom  he  loved  so  well, 
And  who  had  thus  again  forsaken  him. 
Siverian's  helm  and  cuirass  on  the  grass 
Lay  near;  and  Julian's  sword,  its  hilt  and  chain 
Clotted  with  blood;  but  where  was  he  whose  hand 
Hal  wielded  it  so  well  that  glorious  day?" 

Southey's  Roderick.] 


390  THE    VISION    OF 

Echo'd,  for  holy  hymn  and  organ- tone, 
The  Santon's  frantic  dance,  the  Fakii-'s  gibbering 


XXIV. 

How  fares   Don  Roderick  ? — E*en  as  one  who 
spies 
Flames  dart  their  glare  o'er  midnight's  sable 
woof, 
And  hears  around  his  children's  piercing  cries, 

And  sees  the  pale  assistants  stand  aloof; 
"While  cruel  Conscience  brings  him  bitter  proof, 
His  folly,  or  his  crime,  have  caused  his  grief; 
And  while  above  him  nods  the  crumbling  roof, 
He  curses   earth   and    Heaven — himself  in 
chief — 
Desperate    of  earthly  aid,  despairing    Heaven'3 
relief ! 

XXV. 

That  scythe-arm'd  Giant  turn'd  his  fatal  glass, 
And  twilight  on  the  landscape   closed   her 
wings ; 
Far  to  Asturian  hills  the  war-sounds  pass, 

And  in  their  stead  rebeck  or  timbrel  rings; 
And    to    the    sound    the    bell-deck'd    dancer 
springs, 
Bazars   resound  as    when    their  marts   are 
met. 
In  tourney  light  the  Moor  his  jerrid  flings, 


DON    RODERICK.  391 

And  on  the  land  as  evening  seem  d  to  set, 
The  Imaum's  chant  was  heard  from  mosque  or 
minaret.^ 

XXVI. 

So  pass'd  that  pageant     Ere  another  came,' 

The  visionary  scene  was  wrapp'd  in  smoke, 
Whose   sulph'rous   wreaths   were    cross'd    by 
sheets  of  flame  ; 
With  every  flash  a  bolt  explosive  broke, 
Till  Roderick  deem'd  the  fiends  had  burst  their 
yoke, 
And  waved  'gainst  lieaven  the  infernal  gon- 
falone ! 
For  War  a  new  and  dreadful  language  spoke, 
Never  by  ancient  warrior  heard  or  known ; 
Liojhtninor   and  smoke    her  breath,   and  thunder 
was  her  tone. 

XXVII. 

From  the  dim  landscape  roU  the  clouds  away — 
The  Ciiristians  have  regain'd  their  heritage  ; 


^  ["  The  munner  in  which  the  pageant  disappears  is  very 
beaiitifal." —  Quarterly  Review.'] 

2  [**  We  come  now  to  the  Second  Period  of  the  Vision;  and 
we  cannot  avoid  noticing  with  much  commendation  the  dex- 
terity and  graceful  ease  with  which  the  first  two  scenes  are 
connected.  Without  abruptness,  or  tedious  apology  for  tninsi- 
tion,  they  melt  into  each  other  with  ver}-  harmonious  effect; 
and  we  strongly  recommend  this  example  of  .-kill,  perhaps 
exhibited  without  any  eflbrt,  to  the  imitation  of  contcmporai  j 
poets." — Monihlt/  Rexrierc] 


392  THE    \'13I0X    OF 

Before    tlie   Cross   has   wooed    the   Crescent's 
ray 
And  many  a  monastery  decks  the  stage, 
And  lofty  church,  and  low-brow'd  liermit^ge. 
The  land  obeys  a  Hermit  and  a  Knight, — 
The  Genii  those  of  Spain  for  many  an  age ; 
This  clad  in  sackcloth,  that  in  armour  bnght, 
And   tljat   was    Valour  named,  this   Bj  ,otki 
was  hight.^ 

XXVIII. 

Valour  was  hamess'd  like  a  Chief  o*  old, 
Arm'd  at  all  points,  and  prompt  for  knightly 
gest;2 
His  sword  was  temper'd  in  the  Ebro  cold, 
Morena's  eagle-plume  adorn'd  his  crest, 
The  spoils  of  Afric's  lion  bound  his  breast. 
Fierce  he  stepp'd  forward  and  flung  down 
his  gage ; 
As  if  of  mortal  kind  to  brave  the  best. 


1  ["  These  allegorical  personages,  which  are  thus  described, 
ore  sketched  in  the  true  spirit  of  Spenser:  but  we  are  not 
Bure  that  we  altogether  approve  of  the  association  of  such 
imaginary  beings  with  the  real  events  that  pass  over  the 
stage;  and  these,  as  well  as  the  form  of  ambition  which  pre 
cedes  the  path  of  Bonaparte,  have  somewhat  the  air  of  the 
immortals  of  the  Luxemburg  gallery,  whoso  naked  limbs  and 
tridents,  thunderbolts  and  caducei,  are  ?o  singularly  con- 
trasted wita  th'^  niffs  and  whiskers,  the  qaeen^  archbishops 
and  cardinals  of  France  and  iJavarre." — Lcuarterly  Review.'] 

'  ["Arm'd  at  all  points,  exactly  cap-a-i  jc." — II'imlet.'\ 


DON    RODERICK.  393 

Him  follow'd  his  Companion,  dark  and  sage, 
fis   he,  my    Master,  sung  the  dangerous   Arch- 
image. 

XXIX. 

Haughty  of  heart  and  brow  the  Warrior  came, 
In  look  and  language  proud  as  proud  might 
be, 
Vaunting  his  lordship,  lineage,  fights,  and  fame : 
Yet  was  that  barefoot  Monk  more  proud  than 
he: 
And  as  the  ivy  climbs  the  tallest  tree, 

So  round  the  loftiest  soul  his  toils  he  wound. 
And  with  his  spelLs  subdued  the  fierce  and  free. 
Till  ermined  Age  and  Youth,  in  arms  re- 
no  wn'd, 
Honouring   his    scourge   and   hair-cloth,   meekly 
kiss'd  the  ground. 

XXX. 

And    thus    it   chanced  that   Valolii,  peerless 
knight, 

Who  ne'er  to  King  or  Kui.-ar  veil'd  his  crest. 
Victorious  still  in  bull-feast  or  in  fight. 

Since  first  his  limbs  with  mail  he  did  invest, 
Stoop'd  ever  to  that  Anch<jret's  behest ; 

Nor  reason'd  of  the  right,  nor  of  the  wrong, 
Bui  at  his  bidding  laid  the  lance  in  rest, 

And  wrouorht  fell  deeds  the  troubled  world 

o 

along, 
For  he  was  fierce  as  >"^^'    -^nd   -  *H''»«v*  as  strong, 


S94  THE    VISION    OF 

XXXI. 

Oft  his  proud  galleys  sought  some  new-found 
world, 
That  latest  sees  the  sun,  or  first  the  morn ; 
Still  at  that  Wizard's  feet  their  spoils  he  hurl'd, — 

Ingots  of  ore  from  rich  Potosi  borne, 
Crowns  by  Caciques,  aigrettes  by  Omrahs  worn, 
"Wrought  of  rare  gems,  but  broken,  rent,  and 
foul ; 
Idols  of  gold  from  heathen  temples  torn. 

Bedabbled  all  with  blood. — With  grisly  scowl 
The  Hermit  mark'd  the  stains,  and  smiled  beneath 
his  cowl. 

XXXII. 

Then  did  he  bless  the  offering,  and  bade  make 
Tribute  to  Heaven  of  gratitude  and  praise ; 
And  at  his  word  the  choral  hymns  awake. 

And  many  a  hand  the  silver  censer  sways. 
But  with  the  incense-breath  these  censers  raise, 
Mix  steams  from  corpses  smouldering  in  the 
fire; 
The  groans  of  prison'd  victims  mar  the  lays. 
And  shrieks  of  agony  confound  the  quire  ; 
Wliile,   mid   the   mingled    sounds,   the   darken'd 
scenes  expire. 

XXXIII. 

Preluding  light,  were  strains  of  music  heard, 
As  once  airain  revolved  that  measured  sand 


DON    RODZItlCK.  39o 

Such  pounds  03  when,  for  sylvan  dance   pre- 
pared, 
Gray  Xeres  summons  forth  her  vintage  band ; 
When  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 

The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met,^ 
He  conscious  of  his  broider*d  cap  and  band, 
She  of  her  netted  locks  and  light  corsette, 
Each  tiptoe   perch'd   to   spring,   and   shake   the 
Castanet. 

XXXIV. 

And  well  such  strains  the  opening  scene  became ; 

For  Valour  had  relax'd  his  ardent  look, 
And  at  a  lady's  feet,  like  lion  tame. 

Lay  stretch'd,  full  loath  the  weight  of  arms 
to  brook ; 
And  soften'd  Bigotry,  upon  his  book, 
Patter'd  a  task  of  little  good  or  ill : 
But  the  blithe  peasant  plied  his  pruning-hook, 
Whistled  the  muleteer  o'er  vale  and  hill, 
And  rung   from   village-green  the   merry   segui- 
diUe.- 


*  The  bolero  is  a  verj-  light  and  active  dance,  much  prac- 
tised by  the  Spaniards,  in  which  castanets  are  always  used. 
Mxo  and  muchacha  are  equivalent  to  oar  phrase  of  lad  and 
lass. 

2  ['*  The  third  scene,  a  f>eaceful  state  of  indolence  and 
obscurity,  where,  thongh  the  court  was  degenerate,  the  peas- 
ant was  merry  and  contented,  is  introduced  with  exquisite 
ightn^s  and  gaiety." — Quarterly  Review.'] 


596  THE    VISION    OF 

XXXV. 

Grey  EojaJtj,  grown  impotent  of  toil,^ 
Let  the  grave  sceptre  slip  his  lazy  hold ; 

And,  careless,  saw  his  rule  become  the  spoil 
Of  a  loose  Female  and  her  minion  bold. 

But  peace  was  on  the  cottage  and  the  fold, 

"  The  three  grand  and  comprehensive  pictures  in  whiob 
Mr.  Scott  has  delineated  the  state  of  Spain,  during  the  three 
periods  to  which  we  have  alluded,  are  conceived  with  much 
genius,  and  executed  with  very  considerable,  though  unequal 
felicity.  That  of  the  Moorish  dominion  is  drawn,  we  think 
with  the  greatest  spirit.  The  reign  of  Chivalry  and  Super- 
stition we  do  not  think  so  happily  represented,  by  a  long  and 
laboured  description  of  two  iillegorical  personages  called 
Bigotry  and  Valour.  Nor  is  it  very  easy  to  conceive  how 
Don  Roderick  was  to  learn  the  fortunes  of  his  country,  merely 
by  inspecting  the  physiognomy  and  furnishing  of  these  two 
figurantes.  The  truth  seems  to  be,  that  Mr.  Scott  has  been 
tempted  on  this  occasion  to  extend  a  mere  metaphor  into  an 
allegory ;  and  to  prolong  a  figure  which  might  have  given 
great  grace  and  spirit  to  a  single  stanza,  into  the  heavy  sub- 
ject of  seven  or  eight.  His  representation  of  the  recent  state 
of  Spain,  we  think,  displays  the  talent  and  address  of  the 
author  to  the  greatest  advantage ;  for  the  subject  was  by  no 
means  inspiring;  nor  was  it  easy,  we  should  imagine,  to  make 
the  picture  of  decay  and  inglorious  indolence  so  engaging." 
— Edinburgh  Review^  which  then  quotes  stanzas  xxxiv.  and 

XXXV.] 

1  ["  The  opening  of  the  third  period  of  the  Vision  is,  per- 
haps necessarily,  more  abrupt  than  that  of  the  second.  No 
circumstance,  equally  marked  with  the  alteration  in  the  whole 
system  of  ancient  warfare,  could  be  introduced  in  this  com- 
partment of  the  poem ;  yet,  when  we  have  been  told  that 
Valour  Ind  relaxed  his  ardent  look,'  and  that  •  Bigotry  '  wa» 
softened,'  we  are  reasonably  prepared  for  what  follows."— 
Monthly  Revieio.] 


DON    RODERICK.  397 

From  court  intrigue,  from  bickering  faction 
far ; 
Beneath  the  chestnut-tree  Love's  tale  was  told, 
And  to  the  tinkling  of  the  light  guitar, 
Bweet  stoop'd  the   western  sun,  sweet  rose  the 
evening  star. 

XXXVI. 

As  that  sea-cloud,  in  size  like  human  hand, 

When  first  from  Carmel  by  the  Tishbite  seen, 
Came  slowly  overshadowing  Israel's  land,^ 
A  while,  perchance,  bedeck'd  with  colours 
sheen, 
While  yet  the  sunbeams  on  its  skirts  had  been, 
Limning  with  purple  and  with  gold  its  shroud. 
Till  darker  folds  obscured  the  blue  serene. 
And  blotted  heaven  with   one  broad  sable 
cloud, 
Then  sheeted  rain  burst  down,  and  whirlwinds 
howl'd  aloud; — 


XXXVII. 

Even  so,  upon  that  peaceful  scene  was  pour'd, 
Like  gathering  clouds,  full  many  a  foreign 
band. 

And  He,  their  Leader,  wore  in  sheath  his  sword. 
And  offer'd  peaceful  frcnt  and  open  hand, 

Veiling  the  perjured  treachery  he  plann'd, 

1  [See  1  Kings,  chap,  xviii.  v.  41-45  ] 


398  THE    VISION    OP 

By  iriendship's  zeal  and  honour's  specioua 
guise, 
Until  he  won  the  passes  of  the  land ; 

Then  burst  were  honour's  oath,  and  friend- 
ship's ties ! 
He  clutch'd  his  vulture-grasp,  and  call'd  fair  Spain 
his  prize. 

XXXVIII. 

An  Iron  Crown  his  anxious  forehead  bore  ; 
And  well  such  diadem  his  heart  became, 
Who  ne'er  his  purpose  for  remorse  gave  o'er, 

Or  check'd  his  course  for  piety  or  shame ; 
Who  train'd  a  soldier,  deem'd  a  soldier's  fame 
Might  flourish  in  the  wreath  of  battles  won. 
Though   neither  truth  nor  honour  deck'd  his 
name; 
Who,  placed  by  fortune  on  a  Monarch's  throne, 
Reck'd  not  of  Monarch's  faith,  or  Mercy's  kingly 
tone. 

XXXIX. 

From  a  rude  isle  his  ruder  lineage  came, 
The  spark,  that,  from  a  suburb-hovel's  hearth 

Ascending,  wraps  some  capital  in  flame. 
Hath  not  a  meaner  or  more  sordid  birth. 

And  for  the  soul  that  bade  him  waste  the  earth — 
The  sable  land-flood  from  some  swamp  ob- 
scure, 

That  poisons  the  glad  husband-field  with  dearth. 


DON    PwODERICK.  399 

And  by  destruction  bids  its  fame  endure, 
Halb  not  a  source  more  sullen,  stagnant,  and  im- 
pure.^ 

XL. 

Before  that  Leader  strode  a  shadowy  Form ; 
Her  limbs  like  mist,  her  torch  like  meteor 
show'd, 
With  which  she  beckon'd  him  through  fight  and 
storm. 
And  all  he  crush'd  that  cross'd  his  desperate 
road. 
Nor  thought,  nor  fear'd,  nor  look'd  on  what  he 
trode. 
Realms  could  not  glut  his  pride,  blood  could 
not  slake, 
So  oft  as  e'er  she  shook  her  torch  abroad — 
It  was  Ambition  bade  her  terrors  wake. 
Nor  deign'd  she,  as  of  yore,  a  milder  form  to  take. 

XLI. 

No  longer  now  she  spum'd  at  mean  revenge. 
Or  staid  her  hand  for  conquer'd  foeman's  moan ; 

1  ["  We  are  as  ready  as  any  of  our  conntrj-men  can  be,  to 
designate  Bonaparte's  invasion  of  Spain  by  its  proper  epithet'?; 
but  we  must  decline  to  join  in  the  author's  declamation 
against  the  low  birth  of  the  invade-:  and  we  cannot  help 
rcminding  Mr.  Scott  that  such  a  topic  of  censure  is  unworthy 
gT  him,  both  as  a  poet  and  as  a  'Rriton."'— Monthly  Review. 

"  The  picture  of  Bonaparte,  considenng  the  difficulty  of  all 
contemporary  delineations,  is  not  ill  executed." — Edinburgh 
Keriew.^ 


400  THE    VISION    OF 

As  when,  the  fates  of  aged  Rome  to  change, 
By  Caesar's  side  she  cross'd  the  Rubicon, 
Nor  joy'd  she  to  bestow  the  spoils  she  won, 
As  when  the  banded  powers  of  Greece  were 
task'd 
To  war  beneath  the  Youth  of  Macedon  : 
No  seemly  veil  her  modern  minion  ask'd, 
[le  saw  her  hideous  face,  and  loved  the  fiend  un- 
mask'd. 

XLTI. 

That  Prelate  mark'd  his  march — On  banners 
blazed 
With  battles  won  in  many  a  distant  land, 
On  eagle-standards  and  on  arms  he  gazed ; 
"And  hopest  thou,  then,"  he  said,  "  thy  power 
shall  stand  ? 
O,  thou  hast  builded  on  the  shifting  sand, 
And  thou  hast  temper'd  it  with  slaughter's 
flood; 
And   know,  fell    scourge    in    the   Almighty's 
hand, 
Gore-moisten'd  trees  shall  perish  in  the  bud, 
A^nd  by  a  bloody  death,  shall  die  the  Man  of 
Blood!  "1 

'  ["  We  are  not  altogether  pleased  with  the  lines  which 
follow  the  description  of  Bonaparte's  birth  and  country.  In 
historical  truth,  we  believe,  his  family  was  not  plebeian;  and, 
Betting  aside  the  old  saying  of  '  genus  et  proavos,''  the  poet  i3 
here  evidently  becoming  a  chorus  to  his  own  scene,  and  ex- 
plaining a  fact  which  could  b}'  no  means  be  inferred  from  th« 


DON    RODERICK.  401 

XLIII. 

The  ruthless  Leader  beckon'd  from  Iiiy  train 

A  wan  fraternal  Shade,  and  bade  him  kneel, 

ArA  paled  his  temples  with  the  crown  of  Spain, 

TVhile    trumpets   rang,    and    heralds    cried, 

"  Castile  !  "  ^ 

^ot  that  he  loved  him — No  ! — In  no  man's  weal, 

vScarce  in  his  own,  e'er  joj'd  that  sullen  heart , 

Yet  round  that  throne  he  bade  his   warriors 

wheel. 

That  the  poor  Puppet  might  perform  his  part, 

A.nd  be  a  sceptred  slave,  at  his  stem  beck  to  start 

XLIV. 

But  on  the  Natives  of  that  Land  misused, 
Not  long  the  silence  of  amazement  hung, 

Nor  brook 'd  thej  long  their  friendly  faith  abused; 
For,  with  a  common  shriek,  the  general  tongue 

Exclaim'd,  "  To  arms  !  " — and  fast  to  arms  thej 
sprung. 
And  Valour  woke,  that  Genius  of  the  Land ! 

Pleasure,  and  ease,  and  sloth,  aside  he  flung. 


pageant  that  passes  before  the  eyes  of  the  King  and  Prelate 
The  Archbishop's  observation  on  his  appearance  is  free,  how- 
ever, from  every  objection  of  this  kind." — Quarterly  Reciew.] 

1  The  heralds,  at  the  coronation  of  a  Spanish  monarch,  pro- 
claim his  name  three  times,  and  repeat  throe  times  the  word 
^oitilla,  Costilla^  CastiUa ;  which,  with  all  other  ceremonies, 
was  carefully  copied  in  the  mock  inauguration  of  Joseph 
B  maparte. 

VOT..  IV.  26 


402  THE    VISION    OP 

As  burst  th'  awakening  Nazarite  his  band, 
When  'gainst  his  treacherous   foes   he   clench'd 
his  dreadful  hand.' 

XLV. 

That  Mimic  Monarch  now  cast  anxious  eye 
Upon  the  Satraps  that  begirt  him  round. 
Now  doff'd  his  royal  robe  in  act  to  fly, 

And  from  his  brow  the  diadem  unbound. 
So  oft,  so  near,  the  Patriot  bugle  wound, 

From  Tarik's  waUs  to  Bilboa's   mountains 
blown, 
These  martial  satellites  hard  labour  found, 
To  guard  awhile  his  substituted  throne — 
Light  recking  of  his  cause,  but  battling  for  their 
own. 

XLVI. 

From  Alpuhara's  peak  that  bugle  rung. 

And  it  was  echo'd  from  Corunna's  wall ; 
Stately  Seville  responsive  war-shot  flung, 

Grenada  caught  it  in  her  Moorish  hall ; 
Galicia  bade  her  children  fight  or  fall, 

"Wild  Biscay  shook  his  mountain  coronet, 
Valencia  roused  her  at  the  battle-call, 

And,  foremost  stiU  where  Valour's  sons  are 
met. 
First  started  to  his  gun  each  fiery  Miquelet, 

1  [See  Book  of  Judges,  Chap.  xv.  v.  9-16.J 


DON    RODERICK.  403 


XL  VII. 

But  unappaircU  and  burning  for  the  fight 

The  Invaders  march,  of  victory  secure ; 
Skilful  their  force  to  sever  or  unite, 

And  train'd  alike  to  vanquish  or  endure. 
Xor  skilful  less,  cheap  conquest  to  ensure, 
Discord  to  breathe,  and  jealousy  to  sow, 
To  quell  by  boasting,  and  by  bribes  to  lure ; 
While  nought  against  them  bring  the  unprac- 
tised foe, 
Save  hearts  for  Freedom's  cause,  and  hands  for 
Freedom's  blow. 

XLVin. 
Proudly  they  march — but,  0 !  they  march  not 
forth 
By  one  hot  field  to  crown  a  brief  campaign, 
As  when  their  Eagles,  sweeping  through  the 
North, 
Destroyed  at  every  stoop  an  ancient  reign ! 
Far  other  fate  had  Heaven  decreed  for  Spain  ; 
In  vain   the   steel,   in  vain   the   torch   was 
plied, 
New  Patriot  armies  started  from  the  slain, 
High  blazed  the  war,  and  long,  and  far,  and 
wide,* 
And  ofl  the  God  of  Battles   blest  the  rigbteoua 
side. 


1  f  See  Appendix,  Note  B.] 


t04.  THE   VISION    OP 


XLIX. 

Nor  unatoned,  where  Freedom's  foes  prevail, 
Elemaiii'd  their  savage  waste.     With  blade  and 
brand, 
By  day  the  Invaders  ravaged  hill  and  dale, 
But,  with  the  darkness,  the  Guerilla  band 
Came  like  night's  tempest,  and   avenged  the 
land. 
And  claim'd  for  blood  the  retribution  due, 
Probed  the  hard  heart,  and  lopp'd  the  murd'rous 
hand ; 
And  Dawn,  when  o'er  the  scene  her  beams  she 
threw, 
JVIidst  ruins  they  had  made,  the  spoilers'  corpses 
knew. 

L. 

What  minstrel  verse  may  sing,  or  tongue  may 
tell. 
Amid  the  vision'd  strife  from  sea  to  sea, 
How  oft  the  Patriot  banners  rose  or  fell, 

Still  honourd  in  defeat  as  victory  ! 
For  that  sad  pageant  of  events  to  be, 

Show'd   every  form   of  fight   by  field   and 
flood ; 
Slaughter    and    Ruin,    shouting     forth    their 
glee, 
Beheld,  while  riding  on  the  tempest  scud, 
The    waters   choked    with   slain,   the   earth   be- 
drench'd  with  blood ! 


DON    RODERICK.  AOo 

LI. 

Then  Zaragoza — blighted  be  the  tongue 

That  names  thy  name  without   the  honour 
due  ! 
For  never  hath  the  harp  of  Minstrel  rung, 
Of  fiiith  so  felly  proved,  so  firmly  true  ! 
JMine,  sap,  and  bomb,  thy  shatter'd  ruins  knew, 

Each  art  of  war's  extremity  had  room, 
Twice  from  thy  half-sack'd  streets  the  foe  with- 
drew, 
And  when  at  length  stern  fate  decreed  thy 
doom, 
ITiey  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's  bloody 
tomb.-^ 

LII. 

Yet    raise  thy  head,    sad  city !      Though   in 
chains, 
Enthrall'd  thou   canst  not  be !     Arise,  and 
claim 
Reverence  from   every  heart  whei'e  Freedom 
reigns. 
For   what   thou   worshippest ! — thy   samted 
Dame, 
She  of  the  Column,  honoured  be  her  name. 
By   all,  whate'er  their  creed,    who   honour 
love ! 
And  like  the  sacred  relics  of  the  flame, 

That  gave  some  martyr  to  the  bless'd  above, 
To  every  loyal  heart  may  thy  sad  embers  prove 
1  [See  Appendix,  Note  C] 


iOQ  THE    VISION    OF 

LIII. 

Nor  thine  alone  such  wreck.     Gerona  fair ! 

Faithful  to  death  thy  heroes  shall  be  sung, 
Manning  the  towers  while  o'er  their  heads -the 
air 
Swart   as  the  smoke  from    raging   furnace 
hung; 
Now  thicker  darkening  where  the  mine  was 
sprung, 
Now  brietlj  lighten'd  by  the  cannon's  flare, 
Now  arch'd  with  fire-sparks   as  the  bomb  was 
flung, 
And  redd'ning  now  with  conflagation's  glare, 
WTiile  by  the  fatal  light  the  foes  for  stonn  pre- 
pare. 

LIT. 

While  all  around  was  danger,  strife,  and  fear. 
While  the  earth  shook,  and  darken'd  was  the 
sky, 
And   wide    Destruction   stunned   the   listening 
ear, 
Appall'd  the  heart,  and  stupefied  the  eye, — 
Afar  was  heard  that  thrice-repeated  cry. 

In   which   old   Albion's    heart   and   tongue 
unite, 
Whene'er  her  soul  is  up,  and  pulse  beats  high, 
Whether  it  hail  the  wine-cup  or  the  fight, 
And  bid  each  arm  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart  be 
hght. 


DOX    EODElilCK.  407 

LV. 

Don  Roderick  turn'd  him  as  the  shout  grew 
loud— » 
A  varied  scene  the  changeful  vision  showed, 
For,  where  the  ocean  mingled  with  the  cloud, 

A  gallant  navy  stemmed  the  billows  broad. 
From   mast   and   stern    St.    George's   symbol 
flow'd, 
Blent  with  the  silver  cross  to  Scotland  dear; 
Mottling  the  sea  their  landward  barges  row*d,^ 
And  flash'd  the  sun  on  bayonet,  brand,  and 
spear, 
And  the  wild  beach  retum'd  the  seaman's  jovial 
cheer.* 

1  [MS. — "  Don  Roderick  tum'd  him  at  the  sudden  cry."] 
*  [MS. — "  Right  for  the  shore  unnumbered  barges  row'd-"] 
8  [Compare  with  this  passage,  and  the  Valour,  Bigotry,  and 
Ambition  of  the  previous  stanzas,  the  celebrated  personifica- 
tion of  War,  in  the  first  canto  of  Childe  Harold,  st.  39:— 

"  Lo  I  where  the  Giant  on  the  mountain  stands, 
His  blood-red  tresses  deep'ning  in  the  sun, 
With  death-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  hands, 
And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon . 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fix'd,  and  now  anon 
Flashing  afar, — and  at  his  iron  feet 
Destruction  cowers,  to  mark  what  deeds  are  done ; 
For  on  this  mom  three  potent  nations  meet 
To  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet 

"  By  heaven  I  it  is  a  splendid  sight  to  see 
(  For  one  who  hath  no  frip^d,  no  brother  there) 
Their  rival  scarfs  of  mix'a  embroidery. 
Their  various  arms,  that  glitter  in  the  air ! 


l08  THE    VISION    OP 

LVI. 

It  was  a  dread,  yet  spirit-stirring  sight ! 

The  billows  foam'd  beneath  a  thousand  oars, 
Fast  as  they  land  the  red-cross  ranks  unite, 

Lesrions  on  legions  brifjht'ninf;  all  the  shores. 
Then  banners  rise,  and  cannon-signal  roars, 

Then  peals  the  warlike  thunder  of  the  drum 

Thrills  the  loud  fife,  the  trumpet-flourish  pours. 

And  patriot   hopes  awake,  ai\d   doubts  are 

dumb, 

For,  bold  in  Freedom's  cause,  the  bands  of  Ocean 

come! 

LVII. 

A  various  host  they  came — whose  ranks  display 
Each  mode  in  which  the  warrior  meets  the 
fight, 
The  deep  battalion  locks  its  firm  array. 


What  gallant  war-hounds  rouse  them  from  their  lair 
And  gnash  their  fangs,  loud  yelling  for  the  prey! 
All  join  the  chase,  but  few  the  triumph  share, 
The  grave  shall  bear  the  chiefest  prize  away, 
And  Havoc  scarce  for  joy  cau  number  their  array. 

"  Three  hosts  combine  to  offer  sacrifice; 
Three  tongues  prefer  strange  orisons  on  high; 
Three  gaudy  standards  flout  the  pale  blue  skies; 
The  shouts  are  France,  Spain,  Albion,  Victory! 
The  foe,  the  victim,  and  the  fond  ally 
That  fights  for  all,  but  ever  fights  in  vain, 
Are  met — as  if  at  home  they  could  not  die — 
To  feed  the  crow  on  Talavera's  plain, 
And  fertilize  the  field  that  each  pretends  to  gain."] 


DON    RODERICK.  409 

And  meditates  his  aim  the  marksman  light ; 
Far  glance  the  light  of  sabres  flashing  bright. 
Where  mounted  squadrons  shake  the  echoing 
mead,^ 
Lacks  not  artillery  breathing  flame  and  night, 
Xor    the    fleet    ordnance   whirl'd    by  rapid 
steed, 
That  rivals  hghtning's  flash  in  ruin  and  in  speed.* 

Lvm. 
A   various    host — from   kindred   realms    they 
came,* 
Brethren  in  arms,  but  rivals  in  renown — 
For  yon  fair  bands  shall  merry  England  claim. 
And  with  their  deeds  of  valour  deck  her 
crown. 
Hers  their  bold  port,  and  hers  their  martial 
frown, 
And  hers  their  scorn  of  death  in  freedom's 
cause. 
Their  eyes  of  azure,  and  their  locks  of  brown, 


1  [MS "  the  dusty  mead."] 

*  ["  The  landing  of  the  En^ish  is  admirably  described; 
I  or  is  there  any  thing  finer  in  the  whole  poem  than  the  fol- 
Vowing  passag.)  (stanzas  Iv.  Ivi.  IviL),  with  the  exception  al- 
ways of  the  three  conclading  lines,  which  appear  to  ns  to  be 
very  nearly  as  bad  as  pocsible." — Jeffrbt.] 

»  ["  The  three  succeeding  scanzas  (Iviii.  lix-  lx.),are  elabo- 
rate; but  we  think,  on  the  whole,  snccessfiiL  They  will 
probably  be  oftener  quoted  than  any  other  paasage  in  the 
poem." — JKrFRET  ] 


110  THE    VISION    OF 

And  the  blunt  speech  that  bursts  without  a 
pause, 
And  freeborn  thoughts,  which  league  the  Soldier 
with  the  Laws. 

LIX. 

And,  O !  loved  warriors  of  the  Minstrel's  land  ! 
Yonder  your  bonnets  nod,  your  tartans  wave 
The  rugged  form  may  mark  the  mountain  band 
And   harsher    features,   and   a   mien   more 
grave ; 
But  ne'er  in  battle-field  tl^obb'd  heart  so  brave 
As  that  which  beats  beneath  the    Scottish 
plaid ; 
And  when  the  pibroch  bids  the  battle  rave, 
And  level  for  the  charge  your  arms  are  laid, 
Where  lives  the  desperate  foe  that  for  such  onset 
stayed  1 

LX. 

Hark !  from  yon  stately  ranks  what  laughter 
rings, 
INIinghng  wild  mirth  with  war's  stem  min- 
strelsy. 
His  jest  while  each  blithe  comrade  round  him 
flings,* 
And  moves  to  death  with  military  glee : 
Boast,  Erin,  boast  them !  tameless,  frank,  and 
free, 

^  [MS. — "  His   jest    each    careless   comrade    round    hivt 
iags."J 


DON    RODf:UICK.  411 

Id    kindness    warm,    and   fierce   m    danger 
known, 
Rr'D^h  Nature's  children,  humorous  as  she: 
Ajid  He,  yon  Chieftain — strike  the  proudest 
tone 
f>f  '  hy  bold  harp,  green  Isle ! — the  Hero  is  thine 
own. 

LXI. 

Now  on  the  scene  Vimeira  should  be  shown, 
On  Talavera's  fight  should  Roderick  gaze, 
And  hear  Corunna  wail  her  battle  won, 

And    see     Busaco's    crest     with    lightning 
blaze  : — ' 
But  shall  fond  fable  mix  with  heroes'  praise  ? 
Hath  Fiction's  st^e  for  Truth's  long  triumphs 
room  ? 
And  dare  her  wild-flowers  mingle  with  the  bays, 
That  claim  a  long  eternity  to  bloom 
Around  the  warrior's  crest,  and  o'er  the  warrior's 
tomb  ? 

LXII. 

Or  may  I  give  adventurous  Fancy  scope, 
And  stretch  a  bold  hand  to  the  awful  veil 

That  hides  futurity  from  anxious  hope, 
Bidding  beyond  it  scenes  of  glory  hail, 

And  painting  Europe  rousing  at  the  tale 

1  [For  details  of  the  battle  of  Vimeira,  fonght  21st  August 
1808— of  Corunna,  16th  Januarj'  1809— of  Talavera,  28th 
July  1809— and  of  Busaco,  27th  Sept.  1810— See  Sir  Walt«r 
Scott's  Life  of  Napoleon  (first  edition),  volumes  vi,  and  vii 
under  these  dates.] 


412  THE    VISION    OF 

Of  Spain's  invaders  from  her  confines  hurl'd, 
While  kindling  nations  buckle  on  their  mail, 
And  Fame,  with  clarion-blast  and  wings  un- 
furl'd. 
To  Freedom  and   Revenge  awakes  an  injured 
World!* 

LXIII. 

O    vain,   though    anxious,    is    the    glance    I 

cast. 

Since  Fate  has  mark'd  futurity  her  own : 

Yet  fate  resigns  to  worth  the  glorious  past. 

The  deeds  recorded,  and  the  laurels  won. 

Then,  though  the  Vault  of  Destiny  ^  be  gone, 


i  ["  The  nation  will  arise  regenerate ; 

Strong  in  her  second  youth  and  beautiful. 
And  like  a  spirit  that  hath  shaken  oflf 
The  clog  of  dull  mortality,  shall  Spain 
Arise  in  glory." — Southey's  Rodenck,  c.  iv.] 

2  Before  finally  dismissing  the  enchanted  cavern  of  Don 
Roderick,  it  may  be  noticed,  that  the  legend  occurs  in  one 
of  Calderon's  plays,  entitled,  La  Virgin  del  Sagrario.  The 
Bcene  opens  with  the  noise  of  the  chiise,  and  Recisundo,  a 
predecessor  of  Roderick  upon  the  Gothic  throne,  enters  pur- 
suing a  stag.  The  animal  assumes  the  form  of  a  man,  and 
defies  the  king  to. enter  the  cave,  which  forms  the  bottom  of 
the  scene,  and  engage  with  him  in  single  combat.  The  king 
accepts  the  challenge,  and  they  engage  accordingly,  but 
without  advantage  on  either  side,  which  induces  the  Genie 
V)  inform  Recisundo,  that  he  is  not  the  monarch  for  whom 
I  le  adventure  of  the  enchanted  cavern  is  reserved,  and  he 
proceeds  to  predict  the  downfall  of  the  Gothic  monarchy,  and 


DON    KODKRICK-  413 

TTing,   Prelate,    all    the    phantasms   of    my 
brain, 
Melted  away  like  mist-wreaths  in  the  sun, 
Yet    grant  for    faith,   for   valour,    and   for 
Spain, 
One  note  of  pride  and  lire,  a  Patriot's  parting 
strain !  * 

of  the  Christian  religion,  which  shall  attend  the  discovery 
of  its  mysteries,  Recisundo,  appalled  by  these  prophecies, 
orders  the  cavern  to  be  secured  by  a  gate  and  bolts  of  iron. 
In  the  second  part  of  the  same  play,  we  are  informed  that 
Don  Roderick  had  removed  the  barrier,  and  transgressed  the 
prohibition  of  his  ancestor,  and  had  been  apprized  by  the 
prodigies  which  he  discovered  of  the  approaching  ruin  of  hia 
kingdom. 

1  ["  For  a  mere  introduction  to  the  exploits  of  our  English 
commanders,  the  story  of  Don  Roderick's  sins  and  confes- 
sions,— the  minute  description  of  his  army  and  attendants,— 
and  the  whole  interest  and  machiuerj-  of  the  enchanted  vault, 
with  the  greater  part  of  the  Vision  itself,  are  far  too  long  and 
elaborate.  They  withdraw  our  curiosity  and  attention  from 
the  objects  for  which  they  had  been  bespoken,  and  gradually 
engage  them  upon  a  new  and  independent  series  of  romantic 
adventures,  in  which  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  Lord  Wellington 
and  Bonaparte  can  have  any  concern.  Bnt,  on  the  other 
hand,  no  sooner  is  this  new  interest  excited, — no  sooner  have 
we  surrendered  our  imaginations  into  the  hands  of  this  dark 
enclianter,  and  heated  our  fancies  to  the  proper  pitch  for  sym- 
pathizing in  the  fortunes  of  Gothic  kings  and  Moorish  in- 
vaders, with  their  imposing  accompaniments  of  harnessed 
knights,  ravished  damsels,  and  enchanted  statues,  than  the 
•whole  romantic  group  vanishes  at  once  from  our  sight;  and 
we  are  hurried,  with  minds  yet  disturbed  with  those  power- 
ful apparitions,  to  the  comparatively  sober  and  cold  narra- 
tion of  Bonaparte's  villanies,  and  to  drawn  battles  between 
mere  mortal  combatants  in  English   and  French  uniforms- 


tl4  THE    VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 

The  vast  and  elaborate  vestibule,  in  short,  in  which  we  Lad 
been  so  long  detained, 

*  Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 
With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade,' 

has  no  corresponding  palace  attached  to  it;  and  the  long 
noviciate  we  are  made  to  serve  to  the  mysterious  powers  of 
romance  is  not  repaid,  after  all,  by  an  introduction  to  their 
awful  preseu-e" ■ — Jkffbst.] 


THE 


VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK 


CONCLUSION. 


THE 


VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK 


CONCLUSIO^\ 
I. 

**  Who  shall  command  Estrella*s  mountain-tide  * 
Back    to  the   source,  wlien   tempest-chafed, 
to  hie? 
Who,  when    Gascogne's  vexM    gulf  is  raging 
wide, 
Shall  hush  it  as  a  nurse  her  infant's  cry? 
His  magic  power  let  such  vain  boaster  try. 

And  when  the  torrent  shall  his  voice  obey, 
And  Biscay's  whirlwinds  list  his  lullaby, 

Let  him   stand  forth  and  bar  mine  eagles 
way, 
And  they  shall  heed  his  voice,  and  at  his  bidding 
stay. 
[MS.—"  Who  shall  command  the  torrent's  headlong  tide."] 

VOL.  IV.  27 


1* 

418  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 


II. 

"  Else  ne'er   to   stoop,   till  high   on  Lisbon's 
towers 
They  close  their  wings,  the  symbol  of  our 
yoke, 
And  their  own  sea  hath  whelm'd  yon  red-cross 
Powers ! " 
Thus,  on  the  summit  of  Alverca's  rock, 
To  Marshal.  Duke,  and  Peer,  Gaul's  Leadei 
spoke. 
While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press, 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock, 
And    smiled     like    Eden    in    her    summer 
dress ;  — 
Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilder- 
ness,* 

1  I  have  ventured  to  apply  to  the  movements  of  the  French 
armj'  that  sublime  passage  in  the  prophecies  of  Joel,  which 
seeras  applicable  to  them  in  more  respects  than  that  I  have 
adopted  in  the  text.  One  would  think  their  ravages,  their 
military  appointments,  the  terror  which  they  spread  nnioiig 
invaded  nations,  their  military  discijjline.  their  arta  of  politi- 
cal intrigue  and  deceit,  wgre  distinctly  pointed  out  in  the 
following  verses  of  Scripture  (chap,  ii.): — 

"  2.  A  day  of  darknesse  and  of  gloominesse,  a  day  of  clouds 
and  of  thick  darknesse,  as  the  morning  spread  upon  the 
mounl^iins :  a  great  people  and  a  strong,  there  hath  not  been 
«ver  the  like,  neither  shall  be  any  more  after  it,  even  to  the 
year\*5  of  many  generations.  3.  A  fire  devoureth  before 
them,  and  behind  them  a  flame  burneth:  the  land  is  as  the 
<^rden  of  Eden  before  them,  and  behinde  thom  a  desolate 
wildernes*    /-ea,  and  nothing  shall  escape  them.    4.  The  ap- 


COXCLUSIOX.  419 

III. 
And   shall    the    boastful    Chief    maintain    his 
word. 
Though  Heaven  hath  heard  the  wailings  of 
the  land, 
Tliough  Lusitania  whet  her  vengeful  sword, 
Though    Britons    arm,    and   Wellington 
command ! 
No  !  grim  Busaco's  iron  ridge  shall  stand 

An  adamantine  barrier  to  his  force ; 
And  fiom  its  base  shall  wheel  his  shatter'd  band, 

peamnce  of  them  is  as  the  appearance  of  horses  and  as 
horsemen,  so  shall  they  runne.  5.  Like  the  noise  of  chariot« 
on  the  tops  of  momitains,  shall  they  leap,  like  the  noise  of  a 
flame  of  fire  that  devoureth  the  stubble,  as  a  strong  people 
Bet  in  battel  array.  6.  Before  their  face  shall  the  people  be 
much  pained;  all  faces  shall  gather  blacknesse.  7.  They 
shall  mn  like  mighty  men,  they  shall  climb  the  wall  like  men 
of  warre,  and  they  shall  march  every  one  in  his  wayes,  and 
they  shall  not  break  their  ranks.  8.  Neither  shall  one  thrust 
another,  they  shall  walk  everyone  in  his  path:  aud  when 
they  fall  upon  the  sword,  they  shall  not  be  wounded.  9.  They 
shall  ran  to  and  fro  in  the  citie;  they  shall  mn  upon  the  wail, 
they  shall  climbe  up  upon  the  houses:  they  shall  enter  in  at 
the  windows  like  a  thief.  10.  The  earth  shall  quake  before 
thern,  the  heavens  shall  tremble,  the  sunne  and  the  moon 
shall  be  dark,  and  the  starres  shall  withdraw  their  shining." 

In  verse  20th  also,  which  announces  the  retreat  of  the 
northern  army,  described  in  such  dreadful  colours,  into  a 
"  land  barren  and  desolate,"  and  the  dishonour  with  which 
Go<l  afflicted  them  for  having  "magnified  themselves  to  do 
great  things,"  there  are  particulars  not  inapplicable  to  the 
retreat  of  Massen a;  Divine  Providence,  having,  in  all  ages 
attached  disgrace  as  the  natural  punishment  of  cruelty  and 
pre<iumption. 


120  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 

As  from  the  unshaken  rock  tlie  torrent  hoarse 
Bears  oflf  its  broken  waves,  and  seeks  a  devious 
course. 

IV. 

Yet  not  because  Alcoba*s  mountain-hawk 

Hath  on  his  best  and  bravest  made  her  food, 
In  numbers  confident,  yon  Chief  shall  baulk 

His  Lord's  imperial  thirst  for  spoil  and  blood 
For  full  in  view  the  promised  conquest  stood, 
And  Lisbon's  matrons  from  their  walls,  might 
sum 
The  m}Tia/Js  that  had  half  the  world  subdued, 
And  hear  the  distant  thunders  of  the  drum. 
That  bids  the  bands  of  France  to  storm  and  havoc 
come. 

V. 

Four  moons  have   heard   th«se  thunders  idly 
roU'd, 
Have  seen  these  wistful  myriads  eye  their 
prey, 
As  famish'd  wolves  survey  a  guarded  fold — 

But  in  the  middle  path  a  Lion  lay  ! 
At  length  they  move — but  not  to  battle-fray, 
Nor  blaze  yon  fires  where  meets  the  »nanly 
fight; 
Beacons  of  infamy,  they  light  the  way 
Where  cowardice  and  cruelty  unite 
Vo  damn  with  double  shame  their  ignominioos 
flight  1 


CONCLUSION.  421 

VI. 

0  triumph    for    the     Fiends     of    Lust    and 

Wrath ! 
Ne'er  to  be  tolJ»  yet  ne'er  to  be  forgot, 
"What  wanton    horrors   mark'd    their  wreckful 
path! 
The  peasant  butcher'd  in  his  ruin'd  cot, 
The  hoary  priest  even  at  the  altar  shot. 

Childhood  and  age  given   o'er  to  sword  and 
flame. 
Woman  to  infamy  ; — no  crime  forgot. 

By  which  inventive  demons  might  proclaim 
Immortal  hate  to  man,  and  scorn  of  God's   great 
name ! 

VII. 

The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  born, 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 
Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  for- 
lorn,^ 

1  Even  the  unexampled  gallantry  of  the  British  army  in  the 
campaign  of  1810-11,  although  they  never  fought  but  to  con- 
quer, will  do  them  less  honour  in  history  than  their  human- 
ity, attentive  to  soften  to  the  utmost  of  their  power  the  hor- 
rors which  war,  in  its  mildest  asp)ect,  must  always  inflict 
upon  the  defenceless  inhabitants  of  the  country  in  which  it  \a 
waged,  and  which,  on  this  occasion,  were  tenfold  augmented 
by  the  barbarous  cruelties  of  the  French.  Soui>-kitcheM 
were  established  by  subscription  among  the  officers,  wherever 
rtie  troops  were  quartered  for  any  length  of  time.  The  com- 
missaries contributed  the  heads,  feet,  &c.  of  the  cattle 
slaughtered  for  the  soldiery:  rice,  vegetables,  and  bread, 
where  it  could  be  ha>i,  were  purchased  by  the  officers.   Fiftr 


422  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 

Wiped  his  stern  eye,  then  fiercer  graspM  his 
gun. 
Nor  with  less  zeal  shall  Britain's  peaceful  son 

Exult  the  debt  of  sympathy  to  pay ; 
Riches  nor  poverty  the  tax  shall  shun, 

Nor  prince,  nor  peer,  the  wealthy  nor   the 

gay, 

Nor  the   poor  peasant's   mite,  nor  bard's  more 
worthless  lay.* 


or  sixty  starving  peasants  were  daily  fed  at  one  of  those  regi- 
mental establishments,  and  earned  home  the  relics  to  their 
famished  households.     The  emaciated  wretches,  who  could 
not  crawl  from  weakness,  were  speedily  employed  in  pnining 
their  vines.     While  pursuing  Massena,  the  soldiers  evinced 
the  same  spirit  of  humanity,  and  in  many  instances,  when 
reduced  themselves   to  short  allowance,  from   having  out- 
marched their  supplies,  they  shared  their  pittance  with  the 
starving  inhabitants,  who  had  ventured  back  to  view  the 
ruins  of  their  habitations,  burnt  by  the  retreating  enemy,  and 
to  bury  the  bodies  of  their  relations  whom  they  had  butcherefl. 
Is  it  possible  to    know  such   facts   without   feeling  a  sort 
of  confidence,  that  those  who  so  well  deserve  victory  are  most 
likely  to  attain  it? — It  is  not  the  least   of  Lord  Wellington's 
military  merits,  that  the  slightest  disposition  towards  maraud- 
ing meets  immediate  punishment.       Independently  of  all 
moral  obligation,  the  army  which  is  most  orderly  in  a  friendly 
country,  has  always  proved   most   formidable  to  an  armed 
enemy. 
1  [The  MS.  has  for  the  preceding  five  lines — 
"  And  in  pursuit  vindictive  hurried  on, 
And  0,  survivors  sad!  to  you  belong 
Tributes  from  each  that  Britain  calls  her  son, 
From  all  her  nobles,  all  her  wealthier  throng. 
To  her  poor  peasant's  mite,  and  minstrel's  poorer  song."] 


CONCLUSION.  423 


VIII. 

But  thou — uufoiighten  wilt  thou  yield  to  Fate, 

Minion  of  Fortune,  now  miscall'd  in  vain ! 
Can  vantage-ground  no  confidence  create, 
Marcella's     pass,    nor    Guarda's    mountain- 
chain  ? 
Vainglorious  fugitive  !  ^  yet  turn  again  ! 

Behold,    where,  named   by  some   prophetic 
Seer, 
Flows  Honour's   Fountain,^  as  foiedoom'd  the 
stain 
From   thy  dishonour'd    name   and  arms  to 
clear — 
Fallen  Child  of  Fortune,  turn,  redeem  her  favour 
here  I 

1  The  French  conducted  this  memorable  retreat  with  much 
of  the  fanfarronade  proper  to  their  country,  by  which  they 
attempt  to  impose  upon  other?,  and  perliaps  on  themselves,  a 
belief  that  they  are  triumphing;  in  the  very  moment  of  their 
discomfiture.  On  the  30th  Marcli,  1811,  their  rear-guard  was 
overtaken  near  Pega  by  the  British  cavalry.  Being  well 
posted,  and  conceiving  themselves  safe  from  infantry  (who 
were  indeed  many  miles  in  the  rear),  and  from  artillery,  they 
indulged  themselves  in  parading  their  bands  of  music,  and 
actually  performed  "  God  save  the  King."  Their  minstrelsy 
was,  however,  deranged  by  the  undesired  accompaniment  of 
the  British  horse-artillery,  on  whose  part  in  the  concert  they 
had  not  calculated.  The  surprise  was  sudden,  and  the  route 
complete;  for  the  artillery  and  cavalry  did  execution  upon 
them  for  about  four  miles,  pui-suing  at  the  gallop  as  often  as 
they  g(^t  beyond  the  range  of  tlie  guns. 

'  The  literal  translation  of  Fucntes  (T  ITonoro. 


124  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK 

Yet,  ere  thou  turn'st,  collect  each  distant  aid ; 

Tliose  chief  that  never  heard  the  lion  roar ! 

Within  whose  sonls  lives  not  a  trace  portrayed, 

Of  Talavera,  or  Mondego's  shore  ! 
Marshal   each   band   thou    hast,  and  summoD 
more; 
Of  war's  fell  stratagems  exhaust  the  whole ; 
Rank  upon  rank,  squadron  on  squadron  pour, 
Legion  on  legion  on  thy  foeman  roU, 
A.nd  weary  out  his  arm — thou   canst  not  quell  his 
soul. 

X. 

O  vainly  gleams  with  steel  Agueda's  shore, 
Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide  Assuava's  plain, 

And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar. 
With  frantic  cliarge  and   tenfold  odds,    in 


1  In  the  severe  action  of  Fuentes  d'  Honoro,  upon  oth  ilay 
ISll,  the  grand  mass  of  the  French  c-walrv  attacked  the 
right  of  the  Britisli  position,  covered  hytwo  pms  of  the  horse- 
artillery,  and  two  squadrons  of  cavalry.  Afrer  suHering  con 
iidcrably  from  the  fire  of  the  guns,  which  annoyed  them  in 
every  attempt  at  formation,  the  enemy  turned  tiieir  wrath 
entirely  towards  them,  distributed  brandy  amor.g  their 
troopers,  and  advanced  to  carry  the  field-pieces  with  the  des- 
peration of  drunken  fury.  They  were  in  nowise  checked  by 
the  heavy  loss  which  they  sustained  in  this  daring  attempt, 
but  closed,  and  fairly  mingled  with  the  British  cavalry,  to 
whom  they  bore  the  proportion  of  ten  to  one.  Captain  Ram- 
say (let  me  be  permitted  to  name  a  gallant  countrj'man), 
who  comic^nded  the  two  guns,  dismissed  them  at  the  gallop, 
and,  putting  himself  at  the  head  of  the  mounted  artillerymea 


CONCLUSION.  425 

And  what,  avails  thee  that,  for  Cameron  filain,' 
Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  waa 
given — 

•rdered  them  to  fall  upon  thfl  Froncti,  Rnhrft-lii-liand.  This 
very  nnexpccto.d  conversion  of  artillerymen  into  dragoons, 
contributed  greatly  to  the  defeat  of  tlie  enemy,  already  di»- 
concerted  by  tlie  reception  they  had  met  from  the  two  Brit- 
ish squadrons;  and  the  appearance  of  some  small  reinforce- 
ments, notwithstanding  the  immense  disproportion  of  force, 
put  them  to  absolute  rout.  A  colonel  or  major  of  their 
cavalry,  and  many  pri.Honer.H  (almost  all  intoxicated)  re- 
mained in  our  possession.  Those  who  consider  for  a  mo- 
ment the  diflereiice  of  the  services,  and  how  much  an  artil- 
leryman is  necessarily  and  naturally  led  to  identify  his  own 
Bafety  and  utility  with  abiding  by  the  tremendous  implement 
>f  war,  to  the  exercise  of  which  he  is  chiefly,  if  not  exclu- 
•ively,  trained,  will  know  how  to  estimate  the  presence  of 
mind  which  commanded  so  bold  a  manoeuvre,  and  the  steadi- 
ness and  confidence  with  which  it  was  executed. 

1  The  gallant  Colonel  Cameron  was  wounded  mortally 
during  the  desperate  contest  in  the  streets  of  the  village 
called  Fuentes  d'  Honoro.  He  fell  at  the  head  of  his  native 
Highlanders,  the  Tlat  and  7&th,  who  raised  a  dreadful  shrieli 
of  grief  and  rage.  They  charged,  with  irresistible  fury, 
the  finest  body  of  French  grenadiers  ever  seen,  being  a 
}  art  of  IJonaparte's  selected  guard.  The  officer  who  led 
the  French,  a  man  remarkable  for  stature  and  symmetry, 
was  killed  on  the  spot.  The  Frenchman  who  stepped  out 
of  his  rank  to  take  aim  at  Colonel  Cameron,  was  also 
bayoneted,  pierced  with  a  thousand  wounds,  and  almost 
torn  to  pieces  by  the  furious  Highlanders,  who,  under  the 
command  of  Colonel  Cadogan,  bore  the  enemy  out  of  the 
contested  ground  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Massena  pays 
my  countrymen  a  singular  compliment  in  his  account  of  the 
attack  and  defence  of  this  village,  in  which  he  says,  the 
'British  lost  many  officers,  awl  Scotch. 


i2G  VISIOIs    OF    DON    KODKRICK. 

Vengeance  and  grief  gave  mountain  rage  the 
rein, 
And,   at   the   bloody  spear-point   headlong 
driven, 
rhy  Despot's  giant  guards  fled  like  the  rack  of 
heaven. 

XI. 

Go,  baffled  boaster !  teach  thy  haughty  mood 

To  plead  at  thine  imperious  master's  throne, 
Say,  thou  hast  left  his  legions  in  their  blood. 
Deceived    his   hopes,    and    frustrated   thine 
own  ; 
Say,  that  thine  utmost  skill  and  valour  shown, 

By  British  skill  and  valour  were  outvied  ; 
Last  say,  thy  conqueror  was  Wellington  ! 
And  if  he  chafe,  be  his  own  fortune  tried — 
God  and  our  cause  to  friend,  the  venture  we'll 
abide. 

XII. 

But  you,  ye  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day. 

How  shall  a  bard,  unknowing  and  unknown, 
His  meed  to  each  victorious  leader  pay, 

Or  bind  on  every  brow  the  laurels  won  ?  ^ 
Yet  fain  my  harp  would  wake  its  boldest  tone, 

O'er  the  wide  sea  to  hail  Cadogan  brave ; 
And   he,  perchance,  the  minstrel-note  might 
own, 

1  [See  Appendix,  Note  D.] 


coNCLrsiON.  427 

Mindful  of  meeting  brief  that  Fortune  gave 
Mid  yon  far  western  isles   that  hear  the  Atlantic 
rave. 

XIII. 

Yes!  hard  the  task,   when   Britons  wield  the 
sword. 
To  give  each  Chief  and  every  field  its  fame ! 
Hark  !  Albuera  thunders  Beresford, 

And     Eed     Barosa    shouts    for    dauntless 
Gr^me ! 
O  for  a  verse  of  tumult  and  of  flame, 

Bold  as  the  bursting  of  their  cannon  sound, 
To  bid  the  world  reecho  to  their  fame ! 
For  never,  upon  gory  battle-ground, 
With  conquest's  well-bought  wreath  were  braver 
victors  crown'd  ! 

XIV. 

O  who  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays,* ' 
TTho  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  field, 

Roused  them  to  emulate  their  fathers'  praise, 
Temper'd  their  headlong  rage,  their  courage 
steel'd,* 

1  [MS. — "  0  who  shall  grudge   yon    chief  the   victor's 

bays."] 

2  Nothing  during  the  -war  of  Portugal  seem;?,  to  a  distinct 
ov.  jerver,  mpre  deserving  of -praise,  than  the  self-devotion  of 
Field-Marshal  Beresford,  who  was  contented  to  undertake 
All  the  hazard  of  obloquy  which  might  have  been  founded 
upon  any  miscarriage  in  Ihe  highly- 'mportant  experiment  of 


i28  VISION    OF    DON    llODERICK. 

And  raised  fair  Lusitania's  fallen  shield, 

And  gave  new  edge  to  Lusitania's  sword, 
And  taught  her  sons  forgotten  arms  to  wield— 
Shiver'd  my  harp,  and  burst  its  every  chord, 
If  it  forget  thy  worth,  victorious  Beresford  I 

xv.^ 

Not  on  that  bloody  field  of  battle  won, 

Though  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist 
away, 

training  the  Portuguese  troops  to  an  improved  state  of  dis- 
cipline. In  exposing  his  military  reputation  to  the  censure 
of  imprudence  from  the  most  moderate,  and  all  manner  of 
unutterable  calumnies  from  the  ignorant  and  malignant,  he 
placed  at  stake  the  dearest  pledge  which  a  military  man  had 
to  offer,  and  nothing  but  the  deepest  conviction  of  the  high 
aud  essential  importance  attached  to  success  can  be  sup- 
posed an  adequate  motive.  How  great  the  chance  of  miscar- 
riage was  supposed,  may  be  estimated  from  the  general 
opinion  of  officers  of  unquestioned  talents  and  experience 
possessed  of  every  opportunity  of  infoi-mation ;  how  com- 
pletely the  experiment  has  succeeded,  aud  how  much  the 
spirit  and  patriotism  of  our  ancient  aUies  had  been  under- 
rated, is  evident,  not  only  from  those  victories  in  which 
they  have  borne  a  distinguished  share,  but  from  the  liberal 
and  highly  honouruble  manner  in  which  these  opinions  have 
been  retracted.  The  success  of  this  plan,  with  all  its  im- 
portant consequences,  we  owe  to  the  indefatigable  exer 
tions  of  Field-Marshal  Beresford. 

[IIS  — "  Not  greater  on  that  mount  of  strife  and  blood, 
While  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist  away, 
And  tides  of  gore  stained  Albuera's  flood. 

And  Poland's  shattered  lines  before  him  lay, 
And  clarions  hail'd  him  victor  of  the  day. 


CONCLUSION.  429 

Was  half  his  self-devoted  valour  shown, — 
He  gaged  but  life  on  that  illustrious  day  ; 
But  when  he  toil'd  those  squadrons  to  array, 

Who  fouglit  like  Britons  in  the  bloody  game, 
Sharper  than  Polish  pike  or  assagay, 

He  braved  the  shafts  of  censure  and  of  shame, 
And,  dearer  far  than  Hfe,  he  pledged  a  soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 

Nor  be  his  praise  o'erpast  who  strove  to  hide 

Beneath  the  warrior's  vest  affection's  wound, 
Whose  wish    Heaven   for   his    country's  weal 
denied ;  * 
Danger  and  fate  he  sought,  but  glory  found. 
From  clime  to  clime,  where'er  war*s  trumpet 
sound, 
The  wanderer  went ;  yet,  Caledonia  !  stiil  * 
Thme   was  his   thought  in  march  and  tented 
ground ; 

Not  greater  when  he  toil'd  yon  legions  to  array, 
'Twas  life  he  perll'd  in  that  stubborn  game, 

And  life  'gainst  honour  when  did  soldier  weigh? 
But,  self-devoted  to  his  generous  aim. 
Far  dearer  than  his  life,  the  hero  pledged  his  fame."] 

fMS. — *  Nor  be  his  meed  o'erpast  who  5:adly  tried 

With  valour's  wreath  to  hide  affecl  ion's  wound, 
To  whom  his  wish  Kc;»ven  for  our  weal  denied."] 

*  [}1S. — "  From  war  to  war  the  wanderer  went  his  round. 
Yet  was  his  soul  in  Caledonia  stili ; 
Hers  was  his  thought,"  &c.l 


430  VISION    OF    DOX    RODERICK. 

He   dream'd  'mid   Alpine  cliffs  of  Athole'a 
hill, 
And  heard  in  Ebro's  roar  his  Lyndoch's  lovely 
riU.i 

XVII. 

0  hero  of  a  race  renown'd  of  old, 

Whose  war-cry  oft   has  waked   the   battle- 
swell, 
Since  first  distinguish'd  in  the  onset  bold, 
Wild   sounding  when   the    Roman    rampart 
fell! 
By  Wallace'  side  it  rung  the  Southron's  knell, 
Alderne,  Kilsythe,  and  Tibber,  own'd  it?  fame, 
•  Tummell's  rude  pass  can  of  its  terrors  tell. 

But  ne'er  from  prouder  field  arose  the  name, 
Than   when  wild   Ronda  learnM  the   conquering 
shout  of  Gr^me  !  ^ 

1  [MS. "fairy  rill." 

"  These  lines  excel  the  noisier  and  more  general  panegyrics 
of  the  commandei-s  in  Portugal,  as  much  as  the  sweet  and 
thrilling  tones  of  the  harp  surpass  an  ordinary  flourish  of 
drums  and  trumpets." —  Quarterly  Review. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  our  nationality  which  makes  us  like  better 
Ihe  tribute  to  General  Grahame — though  there  is  something, 
fre  believe,  in  the  softness  of  the  sentiment  that  will  be  felt, 
even  by  English  readers,  as  a  relief  from  the  exceeding  claxtt- 
our  and  loud  boastings  of  all  the  surrounding  stanzas."— 
Edinburgh  Review.] 

2  This  stanza  alludes  to  the  various  achievements  of  the 
vearli.te  family  of  Graeme,  or  Grahame.  They  are  said,  by 
tradition,  to  have  descended  from  the  Scottish  chief,  under 
whose  command  his  countrymen   stormed  the  wall  built  bv 


CONCLUSIO!i.  431 

XVIII. 

But  all   too  long,  through  seas  unknown  and 
dark, 
(With  Spenser's  parable  I  close  ray  tale,)^ 
By  shoal  and  rock  hath  steer'd  my  venturous 
bark, 
And  landward  now  I  drive  before  the  gale. 
And  now  the  blue  and  distant  shore  I  hail, 
And  nearer  now  I  see  the  port  expand. 
And  now  I  gladly  furl  my  weary  sail, 

the  Emperor  Severus  between  the  Friths  of  Forth  and  Clyde, 
the  fragments  of  which  are  still  popularly  called  Graeme's 
Dyke.  Sir  John  the  Graeme,  "  the  hardy,  wight,  and  wise," 
is  well-known  as  the  friend  of  Sir  William  Wallace.  Aldeme, 
Kilsythe,  and  Tibbermuir,  were  scenes  of  the  victories  of  the 
heroic  Marquis  of  Montrose.  The  pass  of  Killycrankie  ia 
famous  for  the  action  between  King  William's  forces  and  the 
Highlanders  in  1689, 

"  Where  glad  Dundee  in  faint  huzzas  expired." 

It  is  seldom  that  one  line  can  number  so  many  heroes,  and 
yet  more  rare  when  it  can  appeal  to  the  glory  of  a  living 
descendant  in  support  of  its  ancient  renown. 

The  allusions  to  the  private  history  and  character  of  General 
Grahame  may  be  illustrated  by  refemng  to  the  eloquent  aud 
affecting  speech  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  upon  the  vote  of  thanks  to 
the  Victor  of  Barosa. 

1  ["  Now,  strike  your  sailes,  yee  iolly  mariners 
For  we  be  come  unto  a  quiet  rode, 
Where  we  must  land  some  of  our  passengers, 

And  light  this  weary  vessell  of  her  lode. 
Here  she  awhile  may  make  her  safe  abode, 
-     Till  she  repaired  have  her  tackles  spent 


432  VISION    OF   DON    RODERICK. 

And,  as  the  prow  light  touches  on  the  strand, 
I  strike  my  red-cross  flag  and  bhid  my  skiff  to 
land.i 

And  wants  supplido ;  and  then  againe  abroad 

On  the  long  voiage  whereto  she  is  bent: 
Well  may  she  speede,  and  fairly  finish  her  intent !  " 
Faerie  Queene,  Book  i.  Canto  12.] 

A  ["  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  has  been  received  with 
less  interest  by  the  public  than  any  of  the  author's  other  per- 
formances; and  has  been  read,  we  should  imagine,  with  some 
degree  of  disappointment  even  by  tliose  who  took  it  up  with 
the  most  reasonable  expectations.  Yet  it  is  written  with  very 
considerable  spirit,  and  Avith  more  care  and  eftbrt  tlian  most 
of  the  author's  compositions ; — with  a  degi-ee  of  effort,  indeed, 
which  could  scarcely  have  failed  of  success,  if  the  author 
had  not  succeeded  so  splendidly  on  other  occasions  without 
any  effort  at  all,  or  had  chosen  any  other  subject  than  that 
which  fills  the  cry  of  our  alehouse  politicians,  and  supplies 
the  gabble  of  all  the  quidnuncs  in  this  country, — our  depend- 
ing campaigns  in  Spain  and  Portugal, — with  the  exploits  of 
Lord  Wellington  and  the  spoliations  of  the  French  armies. 
The  nominal  subject  of  the  poem,  indeed,  is  the  Vision  of 
Don  Roderick,  in  the  eighth  century ; — but  this  is  obviously 
a  mere  prelude  to  the  grand  piece  of  our  i-ecent  battles, — a 
sort  of  machinery  devised  to  give  dignity  and  effect  to  their 
introduction.  In  point  of  fact,  the  poem  begins  and  ends 
with  Lord  Wellington ;  and  being  written  for  the  benefit  of 
the  plundered  Portuguese,  and  upon  a  Spanish  story,  the 
thing  could  not  well  have  been  otherwise.  The  public,  at 
this  moment,  will  listen  to  nothing  about  Spain,  but  the 
history  of  the  Spanish  war;  and  the  old  Gothic  king,  and  the 
Moors,  are  considered,  we  dai*e  say,  by  Mr.  Scott's  most  im- 
patient readers,  as  very  tedious  interlopers  in  the  proper 

business  of  the  piece The  Poem  has  scarcely  any 

itory,  and  scarcely  any  characters;  and  consists,  in  truth, 
almost  entirely  of  a  series  of  descriptions,  intermingled  with 


coxcLusiox.  433 

plaudits  and  execrations.  The  descriptions  are  many  of 
them  very  fine,  though  the  style  is  more  turgid  and  verbose 
than  in  the  better  parts  of  ilr.  Scott's  other  productions;  but 
the  invectives  and  acclamations  are  too  vehement  and  too 
frequent  to  be  either  graceful  or  impressive.  There  is  no 
climax  or  progression  to  relieve  the  ear,  or  stimulate  the 
imagination.  Mr.  Scott  sets  out  on  the  very  highest  pitch  of 
his  voice;  and  keeps  it  up  to  the  end  of  the  measure.  There 
are  no  grand  swells,  therefore,  or  overpowering  bursts  in  his 
song.  All,  from  first  to  last,  is  loud,  and  clamorous,  and 
obtrusive, — indiscriminately  noisy,  and  often  inefiectually 
exaggerated.  He  has  fewer  new  images  than  in  his  other 
poetrj' — his  tone  is  less  natural  and  varied, — and  he  moves, 
upon  the  whole,  with  a  slower  and  more  laborious  pace."— 
Jkffket,  1811. 


"  No  comparison  can  be  fairly  instituted  between  composi- 
tions so  wholly  different  in  style  and  designation  as  the  present 
poem  and  Mr.  Scott's  former  productions.  The  present  poem 
neither  has,  nor,  from  its  nature,  could  have  the  interest 
which  arises  from  an  eventful  plot,  or  a  detailed  delineation 
of  character;  and  we  shall  arrive  at  a  far  more  accurate 
estimation  of  its  merits  by  comparing  it  with  '  The  Bard » 
of  Gray,  or  that  particular  scene  of  Ariosto,  where  Brada- 
mante  beholds  the  wonders  of  Merlin's  tomb.  To  this  it  has 
many  strong  and  evident  features  of  resemblance;  but,  in 
our  opinion,  greatly  surpasses  it  both  in  the  dignity  of  the 
objects  represented,  and  the  picturesque  effect  of  the  ma- 
chinery. 

'*  We  are  inclined  to  rank  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  not 
only  above  '  The  Bard,'  but  (excepting  Adam's  Vision  from 
the  ilount  of  Paradise,  and  the  matchless  beauties  of  the 
sixth  book  of  Virgil),  above  all  the  historical  and  poetical 
Drospects  which  have  come  to  our  knowledge.  The  scenic 
representation  is  at  once  gorgeous  and  natural ;  and  tlie  lan- 
guage, and  imagery,  is  altogether  as  spirited,  and  bears  the 
^amp  of  more  care  and  polish  than  even  the  most  celebrated 
VOL.  TV.  28 


434  VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 

of  the  author's  former  productions.  If  it  pleases  us  less 
than  these,  we  must  attribute  it  in  part  perhaps  to  the  want 
of  contrivance,  and  in  a  still  greater  degree  to  the  nature  of 
the  subject  itself,  which  is  deprived  of  all  the  interest  derived 
from  suspense  or  sympathy,  and,  as  far  as  it  is  connected 
with  modern  politics,  represents  a  scene  too  near  our  immo- 
diate  inspection  to  admit  the  interposition  of  the  magic  glass 
of  fiction  and  poetry."—  Quarterly  Revievo,  October^  ISIL] 


APPENDIX 


TO  THK 


VISION    OF  DON    RODERICK 


APPENDIX 


Note  A. 


And  guide  me,  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room. 
Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be, 
His  nation' s  future  fates  a  SpanishKing  shall  see.— ?.  381 

The  transition  of  an  incident  from  history  to  tradi- 
tion, and  from  tradition  to  fible  and  romance,  becom- 
ing more  marvellous  at  each  step  from  its  original 
simplicity,  is  not  ill  exemplified  in  the  account  of  the 
"  Fated  Chamber  "  of  Don  Roderick,  as  given  by  hig 
namesake,  the  historian  of  Toledo,  contrasted  with 
subsequent  and  more  romantic  accounts  of  the  same 
subterranean  discover}-.  I  give  the  Archbishop  of 
Toledo's  tale  in  the  words  of  Nonius,  who  seems  to 
intimate,  (though  ver}' modestly,)  that  the  fatale  pala- 
tium,  of  which  so  much  had  been  said,  was  only  the 
ruins  of  a  Roman  amphitheatre. 

*'  Extra  muros,  septentrionem  versus,  vestigia  magni 
olim  theatri  sparsa  visuntur.  Auctor  est  Rodericus, 
Toletanus  Archiepiscopus  ante  Arabmu  in  Ilispanias 
in-uptionem,  hie  fatale  palatium  fuisse ;  quod  invicti> 
vectes  aeterna  ferrl  robora  claudebant,  ne  reseratum 
Hispania;  excidium  adferret ;  quod  in  fatis  non  vulgua 
■loluni,  sed  et  prudentissimi  quique  credebant     Sed 


438  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

Roderici  ultimi  Gothorum  Regis  animura  infelix  cuii- 
ositas  subiit,  sciendi  quid  sub  tot  vetitis  claustris  obser- 
varetur;  ingentes  ibi  superiorum  regum  opes  et 
areanos  thesauros  servari  ratus.  Seras  et  pessulos 
perfringi  curat,  invitis  omnibus  ;  nihil  praeter  arculam 
repertum,  et  in  ea  linteum,  quo  explicato  novae  et 
insolentes  honiinum  faeies  habitusque  apparuere,  cura 
inscriptione  Latina,  Hispanice  excidium  ab  ilia  gentp 
imminere;  Vultus  habitusque  Maurorum  erant. — 
Quamobrem  ex  Africa  tantam  cladem  instare  regi 
caterisque  persuasum ;  nee  falso  ut  Hispaniae  annales 
etiamnum  queruntur." — Hispania  Ludovic.  Nonij. 
cap.  llx. 

But,  about  the  term  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors 
from  Grenada,  we  find,  in  the  ^'■Historia  Verdadeyra 
del  Rey  Don  Rodrigo"  a  (pretended)  translation  from 
the  Arabic  of  the  sage  Alcayde  Abulcacim  Tarif 
Abentarique,  a  legend  which  puts  to  shame  the  modes- 
ty of  the  historian  Roderick,  with  his  chest  and  pro- 
phetic picture.  The  custom  of  ascribing  a  pretended 
Moorish  original  to  these  legendary  histories,  is  ridi- 
culed by  Cervantes,  who  affects  to  translate  the  His- 
tory of  the  Knight  of  the  Woful  Figure,  from  the 
Arabic  of  the  sage  Cid  Hamet  Benengeli.  As  I 
have  been  indebted  to  the  Historia  Verdadeyra  for 
some  of  the  imagery  employed  in  the  text,  the  follow- 
ing literal  translation  from  the  work  itself  may  gratify 
the  inquisitive  reader  : — 

"  One  mile  on  the  east  side  of  the  city  of  Toledo, 
among  some  rocks,  was  situated  an  ancient  tower,  of  a 
magnificent  structure,  though  much  dilapidated  by  time 
which  consumes  all ;  four  estadoes  (J,,  e.  four  times  a 
man's  height)  below  it,  there  was  a  cave  with  a  very  nar- 


VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK.  439 

row  entrance,  and  a  gate  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock,  lined 
with  a  strong  covering  of  iron,  and  fastened  with  many 
locks ;  above  the  gate  some  Greek  letters  are  en- 
graved, which,  although  abbreviated  and  of  doubt- 
ful meaning,  were  thus  interpreted,  according  to 
the  exposition  of  learned  men :  '  The  King  who 
opens  this  cave,  and  can  discover  the  wonders,  will 
discover  both  good  and  evil  things.'  Many  Kings 
desired  to  know  the  mystery  of  this  tower,  and  sought 
to  find  out  the  manner  with  much  care ;  but  when 
they  opened  the  gate,  such  a  tremendous  noise  arose 
in  the  cave,  that  it  appeared  as  if  the  earth  was  burst- 
ing ;  many  of  those  present  sickened  with  fear,  and 
others  lost  their  lives.  In  order  to  prevent  such  great 
perils,  (as  they  supposed  a  dangerous  enchantment  was 
contained  within,)  they  secured  the  gate  with  new 
locks,  concluding,  that,  though  a  king  was  destined  to 
open  it,  the  fiited  time  was  not  yet  arrived.  At  last 
King  Don  Rodrigo,  led  on  by  his  evil  fortune  and  un- 
lucky destiny,  opened  the  tower ;  and  some  bold  at- 
tendants, whom  he  had  brought  with  him,  entered, 
although  agitated  with  fear.  Having  proceeded  a 
good  way,  they  fled  back  to  the  entrance,  terrified 
with  a  frightful  vision  which  they  had  beheld.  The 
King  was  greatly  moved,  and  ordered  many  torches, 
so  contrived  that  the  tempest  in  the  cave  could  not 
extinguish  them,  to  be  lighted.  Then  the  King  en 
tered,  not  without  fear,  before  all  the  others.  They 
discovered,  by  degrees,  a  Splendid  hall,  apparently 
built  in  a  very  sumptuous  manner;  in  the  middle 
Flood  a  Bronze  Statue  of  very  ferocious  appearance, 
which  held  a  battle-axe  in  its  hands.  With  this  he 
struck  the  floor  \'iolently,  giving  it  such  heavy  blows. 


440  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

that  the  noise  in  the  cave  was  occasioned  by  the  motion 
of  the  air.  The  King,  greatly  aflrighted  and  aston- 
ished, began  to  conjure  this  terrible  vision,  promising 
that  he  would  return  without  doing  any  injury  in  the 
cave,  after  he  had  obtained  a  sight  of  what  was  con- 
tained in  it.  The  statue  ceased  to  strike  the  floor, 
and  the  King  with  his  followers,  somewhat  assured, 
and  recovering  their  courage,  proceeded  into  the  hall ; 
and  on  the  left  of  the  statue  they  found  this  insciip- 
sion  on  the  wall,  '  Unfortunate  King  !  thou  hast  entered 
here  in  evil  hour.*  On  the  right  side  of  the  wall  these 
words  were  inscribed,  '  By  strange  nations  thou  shalt 
be  dispossessed,  and  thy  subjects  foully  degraded.*  On 
the  shoulders  of  the  statue  other  words  were  written, 
which  said,  *  I  call  upon  the  Arabs.*  And  upon  his 
breast  was  written,  '  I  do  my  office.*  At  the  entrance 
to  the  hall  there  was  placed  a  round  bowl,  from  which 
a  great  noise,  like  the  fall  of  waters,  proceeded.  They 
found  no  other  thing  in  the  hall ;  and  when  the  King, 
sorrowful  and  greatly  affected,  had  scarcely  turned 
about  to  leave  the  cavern,  the  statue  again  commenced 
its  accustomed  bloAvs  upon  the  floor.  After  they  had 
mutually  promised  to  conceal  what  they  had  seen, 
they  again  closed  the  tower,  and  blocked  up  the  gate 
of  the  cavern  with  earth,  that  no  memory  might 
remain  in  the  world  of  such  a  portentous  and  evil- 
boding  prodigy.  The  ensuing  midnight  they  heard 
great  cries  and  clamour  from  the  cave,  resounding  like 
the  noise  of  battle,  and  the  ground  shaking  with  a  tre- 
mendous roar ;  the  whole  edifice  of  the  old  tower  fell 
to  the  ground,  by  which  they  were  greatly  allViglite<l 
the  vision  which  they  had  beheld  appearing  to  thcui 
as  a  dream. 


VISION    OF   DON    EODEKICK.  441 

"The  King  having  left  the  tower,  ordered  wise 
men  to  explain  what  the  inscription  signified;  and 
having  consulted  upon  and  studied  their  meaning 
they  declared  that  the  statue  of  bronze,  with  the  motion 
which  it  made  with  its  battle-axe,  signified  Time ; 
and  that  its  office,  alluded  to  in  the  inscription  on  its 
breast,  was,  that  he  never  rests  a  single  moment.  The 
words  on  the  shoulders,  *  I  call  upon  the  Arabs,'  they 
exix)unded,  that,  in  time,  Spain  would  be  conquered 
by  the  Arabs.  The  words  upon  the  left  wall  signified 
the  destruction  of  King  Rodrigo  ;  those  on  the  right, 
the  dreadful  calamities  which  were  to  fall  upon  the 
Spaniards  and  Goths,  and  that  the  unfortunate  King 
would  be  dispossessed  of  all  his  states.  Finally,  the  let- 
ters on  the  portal  indicated,  that  good  would  betide  to 
the  conquerors,  and  evil  to  the  conquered,  of  which 
experience  proved  the  truth." — Historia  Verdadej/ra 
del  Rey  Don  Rodrigo.  Quinta  impresidn.  Madrid, 
1654,  iv.  p.  23. 


Note  B. 

High  blazed  the  war^  and  long,  and  far,  and  wide.-F.  403. 

Those  who  were  disposed  to  believe  that  mere  virtue 
and  energy  are  able  of  themselves  to  work  forth  the 
BAlvation  of  an  oppressed  people,  surprised  in  a 
moment  of  confidence,  deprived  of  their  officers, 
armies,  and  fortresses,  who  had  ever}-  means  of  resist- 
ance to  seek  in  the  very  moment  when  they  were  to 
be  made  use  of,  and  whom  the  numerous  treasons 
%mong  the  higher  orders  de[)rived  of  confidence  in 


442  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

their  natural  leaders, — those  who  entertained  this  en- 
thusiastic but  delusive  opinion  may  be  pardoned  for 
expressing  their  disappointment  at  the  protracted  war^ 
fare  in  the  Peninsula.  There  are,  however,  another 
class  of  persons,  who,  having  themselves  the  highest 
dread  or  veneration,  or  something  allied  to  both,  for 
the  power  of  the  modern  Attila,  will,  nevertheless,  give 
the  heroical  Spaniards  httle  or  no  credit  for  the  long, 
stubborn,  and  unsubdued  resistance  of  three  years  fo 
a  power  before  whom  their  former  well-prepared,  well- 
armed,  and  numerous  adversaries  fell  in  the  course  of 
as  many  months.  While  these  gentlemen  plead  for 
deference  to  Bonaparte,  and  crave 

"  Respect  for  his  great  place — and  bid  the  devil 
Be  duly  honoured  for  his  burning  throne," 

it  may  not  be  altogether  unreasonable  to  claim  some 
modification  of  censure  upon  those  who  have  been 
long  and  to  a  great  extent  successfully  resisting  this 
great  enemy  of  mankind.  That  the  energy  of  Spain 
has  not  uniformly  been  directed  by  conduct  ecpial  to 
its  vigour,  has  been  too  obvious ;  liiat  her  armies, 
under  their  complicated  disadvantages,  have  shared 
the  fate  of  such  as  were  defeated  after  t<iking  the  field 
with  every  possible  advantage  of  arms  and  discipline, 
is  surely  not  to  be  wondered  at.  But  that  a  nation 
under  the  circumstances  of  repeated  discomfiture, 
internal  treason,  and  the  mismanagement  incident  to 
a  temporary  and  hastily  adopted  government-  should 
have  wasted,  by  its  stubborn,  uniform,  ami  prolonged 
resistance,  myriads  after  myriads  of  those  soldiers  who 
had   overrun  the  world — that   some  of  its   province? 


VISION    01'    DO.V    UODEIUCK.  443 

should,  like  Galicia,  after  being  abandoned  by  their 
allies,  and  overrun  by  their  enemies,  haA-e  recovered 
their  freedom  by  their  own  unassisted  exertions  ;  that 
othei-s,  like  Catalonia,  undismayed  by  the  treason 
which  betrayed  some  fortresses,  and  the  force  which 
subdued  others,  should  not  only  have  continued 
their  resistance,  but  have  attained  over  their  Mctori- 
ous  enemy  a  superiority,  which  is  even  now  enabling 
them  to  besiege  and  retake  the  places  of  strength 
which  had  been  wrested  from  them,  is  a  tale  hitherto 
untold  in  the  revolutionar}'  war.  To  say  that  Fuch  a 
people  cannot  be  subdued,  would  be  presumption 
similar  to  that  of  those  who  protested  tlfat  Spain  could 
not  defend  herself  for  a  year,  or  Portugal  for  a  month  ; 
but  that  a  resistance  which  has  been  continued  for  so 
long  a  space,  when  the  usurper,  except  during  the 
short-lived  Austrian  campaign,  had  no  other  enemies 
on  the  continent,  should  be  now  less  successful,  when 
repeated  defeats  have  broken  the  reputation  of  the 
French  armies,  and  when  they  are  likely  (it  would 
seem  almost  in  desperation)  to  seek  occupation  else- 
where, is  a  prophecy  as  improbable  as  ungracious. 
And  while  we  are  in  the  humour  of  severely  censur- 
ing our  allies,  gallant  and  devoted  as  they  have  shown 
themselves  in  the  cause  of  national  liberty,  because 
they  may  not  instantly  adopt  those  measures  which 
we  in  our  wisdom  may  deem  essential  to  success,  it 
might  be  well  if  we  endeavoured  first  to  resolve  the. 
previous  questions, — 1st,  Whether  we  do  not  at  this 
moment  know  much  less  of  the  Spanish  armies  than 
tliose  of  Portugal,  which  were  so  promptly  condemned 
as  totally  inadequate  to  assist  in  the  preservation  of 
•-heir  <  ountry  ?     2d,  Whether,  independently  of  auj 


444  APPENDIX    TO    THt. 

right  wc  have  to  offer  more  than  advice  and  assistance 
to  our  independent  allies,  we  can  expect  that  they 
should  renounce  entirely  the  national  pride  which  is 
inseparable  from  patriotism,  and  at  once  condescend 
not  only  to  be  saved  by  our  assistance,  but  to  be  saAxd 
in  our  own  way  ?  3d,  Whether,  if  it  be  an  object  (as 
undoubtedly  it  is  a  main  one),  that  the  Spanish  troops 
should  be  trained  under  British  discipline,  to  the  flexi- 
bility of  movement,  and  power  of  rapid  concert  and 
combination,  which  is  essential  to  modern  war;  such 
a  consummation  is  likely  to  be  produced  by  abusing 
them  in  newspapers  and  periodical  publications  ? 
Lastly,  Since  fhe  undoubted  authority  of  British  offi- 
cers make  us  now  acquainted  with  part  of  the  horrors 
that  attend  invasion,  and  which  the  providence  of 
God,  the  valour  of  our  navy,  and  perhaps  the  very 
efforts  of  these  Spaniards,  have  hitherto  diverted  from 
us,  it  may  be  modestly  questioned  whether  we  ought 
to  be  too  forward  to  estimate  and  condemn  the  feeling 
of  temporary  stupefaction  which  they  create ;  lest, 
in  so  doing,  we  should  resemble  the  worthy  clergy- 
man, who,  while  he  had  himself  never  snuffed  a  can- 
dle with  his  fingers,  was  disposed  severely  to  criticise 
the  conduct  of  a  martyr,  who  winced  a  little  among 
his  flames. 

Note  C. 

*/  >cy  won  not  Zaragoza^  hit  her  chUdren*s  bloody  tomb.— 

P.  405 

The  interesting  account  of  Mr.  Vaughan  has  mad* 
most  readera  acquainted  with  the  first  siege  of  Zara- 


VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK.  445 

goza.1  The  last  and  fatal  siege  of  that  gallant  and 
devoted  city  13  detailed  with  great  eloquence  and  pre- 
cision in  the  "  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  '"*  for  1809, 
— a  work  in  which  the  affairs  of  Spain  have  been 
treated  of  with  attention  corresponding  to  their  deep 
interest,  and  to  the  peculiar  sources  of  information 
open  ♦o  the  historian.  The  following  are  a  few  brief 
extracts  nora  this  splendid  historical  narrative  : — 

*'A  breach  was  soon  made  in  the  mud  walls,  and 
then,  as  in  the  former  siege,  the  war  was  carried  on 
in  the  streets  and  houses ;  but  the  French  had  been 
taught  by  experience,  that  in  this  species  of  warfare 
the  Zaragozans  derived  a  superiority  from  the  feeling 
and  principle  which  inspired  them,  and  the  cause  for 
which  they  fought.  The  only  means  of  conquering 
Zaragoza  was  to  destroy  it  house  by  house,  and  street 
by  street ;  and  upon  this  system  of  destruction  they 
proceeded.  Three  companies  of  miners,  and  eight 
companies  of  sappers,  carried  on  this  subterraneous 
war ;  the  Spaniards,  it  is  said,  attempted  to  oppose 
them  by  counter-mines;  these  were  operations  to 
which  they  were  wholly  uniL'?ed,  and,  according  to  tlie 
French  statement,  their  miners  were  evert'  day  dis- 
covered and  suffocated."^  Meantime,  the  bombanlment 
was  incessantly  kept  up.  *  Within  the  last  48  hours,' 
said  Palafox,  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  General  Doyle, 
'  6000  shells  have  been  thrown  in.  Two  thirds  of  the 
town  are  in  ruins,  but  we  shall  perish  under  the  ruins 
of  the  ri-raaining  third,  rather  than  surrender.'  In 
the  coui*se  of  the  siege,   above    17,000   bombs   were 

1  [See  Xarmtlve  of  the  Siege  of  Zamgoza,  by  Richard 
Charles  Vanghan,  Esq.,  1809.  The  Right  Hononrable  R.  C 
Vnvighan  is  now  Rrirish  Minister  at  Wjtshiiigton      1833.] 


44G  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

thrown  at  tlie  town  ;  the  stock  of  powder  with  which 
Zaragoza  had  been  stored  was  exhausted ;  they  had 
none  at  last  but  what  they  manufactured  day  by  day ; 
and  no  other  cannon-balls  than  those  which  were  shot 
into  the  town,  and  which  they  collected  and  fired  back 
upon  the  enemj'." 

In  the  midst  of  these  horrors  and  privations,  the 
pestilence  broke  out  in  Zaragoza.  To  various  causes 
enumerated  by  the  annalist,  he  adds,  "  scantiness  of 
food,  crowded  quarters,  unusual  exertion  of  body, 
anxiety  of  mind,  and  the  impossibility  of  recruiting 
their  exhausted  strength  by  needful  rest,  in  a  city 
which  was  almost  incessantly  bombarded,  and  where 
every  hour  their  sleep  was  broken  by  the  tremendous 
explosion  of  mines.  There  was  now  no  respite,  either 
by  day  or  night,  for  this  devoted  city;  even  the  natural 
order  of  light  and  darkness  was  destroyed  in  Zaragoza ; 
by  day  it  was  involved  in  a  red  sulphureous  atmos- 
phere of  smoke,  which  hid  the  face  of  heaven ;  by 
night,  the  fire  of  cannons  and  mortars,  and  the  flames 
of  burning  houses,  kept  it  in  a  state  of  terrific  illu- 
mination. 

"  When  once  the  pestilence  had  begun,  it  was  im- 
possible to  check  its  progrei*,  or  confine  it  to  one 
([iiarter  of  the  city.  Hospitals  were  immediately  es- 
tablished,— tliere  were  above  thirty  of  them ;  as  soon 
as  one  was  destroyed  by  the  bombardment,  the  patients 
were  removed  to  another,  and  thus  the  infection  wa5 
carried  to  eveiy  part  of  Zaragoza,  Famine  aggravated 
the  evil ;  the  city  had  probably  not  been  sufii'iently 
provided  at  the  commencement  of  the  siege,  and  of 
the  provisions  which  it  contained,  much  was  destroyed 
In  the  daily  ruin  which  the  mines  and  bombs  effected 


VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK.  447 

Elad  the  Zaragozans  and  their  garrison  proceeded  ac 
wording  to  military'  rules,  they  would  have  surrendered 
before  the  end  of  January;  their  batteries  had  then 
been  demolished,  there  were  open  breaches  in  many 
parts  of  their  weak  walls,  and  the  enemy  were  already 
within  the  citj'.  On  the  30th,  above  sixty  houses 
were  blown  up,  and  the  French  obtained  possession 
of  the  monasteries  of  the  Augustines  and  Las  Monicas, 
which  aljoined  each  other,  two  of  the  last  defensible 
places  left.  The  enemy  forced  their  way  into  the 
church ;  every  column,  ever}'  chapel,  every  altar, 
became  a  point  of  defence,  which  was  repeatedly  at- 
tacked, taken,  and  retaken ;  the  pavement  was  covered 
with  blood,  the  aisles  and  body  of  the  church  strewed 
with  the  dead,  who  were  trampled  under  foot  by  the 
combatants.  In  the  midst  of  this  conflict,  the  roof, 
shattered  by  repeated  bombs,  fell  in;  the  few  who 
were  not  crushed,  after  a  short  pause,  which  this  tre- 
mendous shock,  and  their  own  unexpected  escape, 
occasioned,  renewed  the  fight  with  rekindling  fury : 
fresh  parties  of  the  enemy  poured  in  ;  monks  and  citi- 
zens, anfl  soldiers  came  to  the  defence,  and  the  con- 
tent was  continued  upon  the  ruins,  and  the  bo<lies  of 
the  dead  and  the  dying." 

Yet,  seventeen  days  after  sustaining  these  extremi- 
bes,  did  the  heroic  inhabitants  of  Zaragoza  continue 
their  defence  ;  nor  did  they  then  surrender  until  their 
despair  had  extracted  from  the  French  gener.ils  a 
capitulation,  more  honourable  than  has  been  granted 
to  fortresses  of  the  first  order. 

Who  shall  venture  to  refuse  the  Zaragozans  the 
eulogium  conferred  upon  them  by  the  eloquence  of 
Wordsworth  ! — "  Most  gloriously  have  the  citizens  of 


i48  APPENDIX   TO    THE 

Zaragoza  proved  tliat  the  true  army  of  Spain,  in  9 
contest  of  this  nature,  is  the  whole  people.  The  same 
city  has  also  exemplified  a  melancholy,  yea,  a  dismal 
truth, — yet  consolatory  and  full  of  joy, — that  when  a 
people  are  called  suddenly  to  fight  for  their  liberty, 
and  are  sorely  pressed  upon,  their  best  field  of  battle 
is  the  floors  upon  which  their  children  have  played  ; 
the  chambers  where  the  family  of  each  man  has  slept 
(his  own  or  his  neighbours')  ;  upon  or  under  the  roofs 
by  which  they  have  been  sheltered ;  in  the  gardens 
of  their  recreation ;  in  the  street,  or  in  the  market- 
place ;  before  the  altars  of  their  temples,  and  among 
their  congregated  dwellings,  blazing  or  uprooted. 

"  The  government  of  Spain  must  never  forget 
Zaragoza  for  a  moment.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  pro- 
duce the  same  effects  everywhere,  but  a  leading  mind, 
such  as  that  city  was  blessed  with.  In  the  latter  con- 
test this  has  been  proved ;  for  Zaragoza  contained,  at 
that  time,  bodies  of  men  from  almost  all  parts  of 
Spain,  The  narrative  of  those  two  sieges  should  be 
the  manual  of  every  Spaniard.  He  may  add  to  it 
the  ancient  stories  of  Numantia  and  Saguntum ;  let 
him  sleep  upon  the  book  as  a  pillow,  and.  if  he  be  a 
devout  adherent  to  the  religion  of  his  country,  let 
him  wear  it  in  his  bosom  for  his  crucifix  to  rest  upon." 
— Wordsworth  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra^ 


VISION    OF   DON    RODERICK,  44rf 

Note  D. 
But  you,  ye  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day,  5*c. — P.  428 

[The  Edinburgh  Re\'iewer  offered  the  following  re. 
marks  on  what  he  considered  as  an  unjust  omission  in 
this  part  of  the  poem  : — 

"  "We  are  not  very  apt,"  he  savs,  "  to  quarrel  with 
a  poet  for  his  politics ;  and  really  supposed  it  next  to 
impossible  that  Mr.  Scott  should  have  given  us  any 
ground  of  dissatisfaction  on  this  score,  in  the  manage- 
ment of  his  present  theme.  Lord  Wellington  and  his 
fellow-soldiers  well  deserved  the  laurels  they  have 
won ;  nor  is  there  one  British  heart,  we  believe,  that 
will  not  feel  proud  and  grateful  for  all  the  honours 
>.dth  which  British  genius  can  invest  their  names.  In 
the  praises  which  Mr.  Scott  has  bestowed,  therefore, 
all  his  readers  will  sympathize ;  but  for  those  which 
he  has  icithheld,  there  are  some  that  will  not  so  readily 
forgive  him ;  and  in  our  eyes,  we  will  confess,  it  is  a 
sin  not  easily  to  be  expiated,  that  in  a  poem  written 
substantially  for  the  purpose  of  commemorating  the 
brave  who  have  fought  or  fallen  in  Spain  or  Portugal 
— and  written  by  a  Scotchman — there  should  be  no 
mention  of  the  name  of  ]Moore  I — of  the  only  com- 
mander-in-chief who  has  fallen  in  this  memorable  con- 
test ; — of  a  commander  who  was  acknowledged  as  the 
model  and  pattern  of  a  British  soldier,  when  British 
soldiers  stood  most  in  need  of  such  an  example  ;-  - 
and  was,  at  the  same  time,  distinguished  not  less  for 
jver}'  manly  virtue  and  generous  affection,  than  tot 
VOL.  IV.  29 


450  APPENDIX    TO    THE 

plcill  and  gallantry  in  his  profession.  A  more  pure,  or 
a  more  exalted  character,  certainly  has  not  appeai-ed 
upon  that  scene  which  Mr.  Scott  has  sought  to  illuS" 
trate  with  the  splendour  of  his  genius;  and  it  ia 
with  a  mixture  of  shame  and  indignation  that  we  find 
him  grudging  a  single  ray  of  that  profuse  and  readily 
jrielded  glory  to  gild  the  grave  of  his  lamented  coun- 
tryman. To  ofi*er  a  lavish  tribute  of  praise  to  the 
living,  whose  task  is  still  incomplete,  may  be  generous 
and  munificent ; — but  to  departed  merit  it  is  d-ue  in 
strictness  of-  justice.  Who  will  deny  that  Sir  John 
Moore  was  all  that  we  have  now  said  of  him  ?  or  who 
will  doubt  that  his  untimely  death  in  the  hour  of  vic- 
tory, would  have  been  eagerly  seized  upon  by  an 
impartial  poet,  as  a  noble  theme  for  generous  lamen- 
tation and  eloquent  praise  ?  But  Mr.  Scott's  political 
friends  have  fancied  it  for  their  interest  to  calumniate 
the  memory  of  this  illustrious  and  accomplished 
person, — and  JVIr.  Scott  has  permitted  the  spirit  of 
party  to  stand  in  the  way,  not  only  of  poetical  justice, 
but  of  patriotic  and  generous  feeling. 

*'  It  is  this  for  which  we  grieve,  and  feel  ashamed ; 
—this  hardening  and  deadening  effect  of  political  ani- 
mosities, in  cases  where  politics  should  have  nothing 
to  do ; — this  apparent  perversion,  not  merely  of  the 
Judgment  but  of  the  heart ;  —  this  implacable  resent- 
ment, which  wars  not  only  with  the  living  but  with 
the  dead  ; — and  thinks  it  a  reason  for  defrauding  a 
departed  warrior  of  his  glory,  that  a  political  antago- 
nist has  been  zealous  in  his  praise.  These  things  arr 
lamentable,  and  they  cannot  be  alluded  to  withou. 
some  emotions  of  sorrow  and  resentment.  But  they 
affect  not  the  fame  of  him  on  whose  account  these 


VISION    OF    DON'    RODERICK.  45l 

emotions  are  suggested.  The  wars  of  Spain,  and  the 
merits  of  Sir  John  Moo.'e,  will  be  commemorated  in  a 
more  impartial  and  a  more  imperishable  record,  than 
the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick ;  and  his  humble  monu- 
ment in  the  Citadel  of  Corunna,  will  draw  the  teara 
and  the  admiration  of  thousands,  who  concern  not 
themselves  about  the  exploits  of  his  more  foitunata 
associates." — Edinhurrjh  Reciew^  vol.  xviii.  1811. 

The  reader  who  desires  to  understand  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  deliberate  opinion  on  the  subject  of  Sir  John 
Moore's  military  character  and  conduct,  is  referred  to 
the  Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  (first  edit.),  vol.  vL 
chap.  ix.  p.  280-1.  But  perhaps  it  may  be  neither 
unamusing  nor  uninstructive  to  consider,  along  with 
the  diatribe  just  quoted  from  the  Edinburgh  Review, 
some  reflections  from  the  pen  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
himself  on  the  injustice  done  to  a  name  greater  than 
Moore's  in  the  noble  stanzas  on  the  Battle  of  Waterloo, 
in  the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold — an  injustice 
which  did  not  call  forth  any  rebuke  from  the  Edin- 
burgh critics.  Sir  Walter  in  reviewing  this  canto 
said, 

"  Childe  Harold  arrives  on  Waterloo — a  scene 
where  all  men,  where  a  poet  especially,  and  a  poet 
such  as  Lord  Byron,  must  needs  pause,  and  amid  the 
quiet  simplicity  of  whose  scenery  is  excite^J  a  moral 
interest,  deeper  and  more  potent  even  than  that  which 
is  produced  by  gazing  upon  the  sublimest  efforts  of 
Nature  in  her  most  romantic  recesses. 

"  That  Lord  Byron's  sentiments  do  not  correspond 
with  ours,  is  obvious,  and  we  are  sorry  for  ooth  our 
lakes.  For  our  own, — because  we  have  lost  that  note 
of  triumph  with  which  his  harp  would  otherwise  hava 


452     APPENDIX  TO  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 

rung  over  a  field  of  glory  such  as  Britain  never  reaped 
before ;  and  on  Lord  Byron's  account,— because  it  is 
melancholy  to  see  a  man  of  genius  duped  by  the  mere 
cant  of  words  and  phrases,  even  when  facts  are  most 
broadly  confronted  with  them.  If  the  poet  has  mixed 
with  the  original,  wild,  and  magnificent  creations  of 
his  imagination,  prejudices  which  he  could  only  have 
caught  by  the  contagion  which  he  most  professes  to 
despise,  it  is  he  himself  that  must  be  the  loser.  If  his 
lofty  muse  has  soared  in  all  her  brilliancy  over  the 
field  of  Waterloo  without  dropping  even  one  leaf  of 
laurel  on  the  head  of  Wellington,  his  merit  can  dis- 
pense even  with  the  praise  of  Lord  Byron.  And  as 
when  the  images  of  Brutus  were  excluded  from  the 
triumphal  procession,  his  memory  became  only  the 
more  powerfully  imprinted  on  the  souls  of  the  Romans 
— the  name  of  the  British  hero  will  be  but  more 
eagerly  recalled  to  remembrance  by  the  very  lines  in 
which  his  praise  is  forgotten." — Quarterly  Review^  vol. 
xvi.     1816.] 

END   OF  VOL.  rv. 


